Target Acquired
by StillAliveDoingScience
Summary: Three years after Chell saves Wheatley from being launched into space, he means to help her escape the facility and shut down GLaDOS for good—but after finding a lost secret, hidden away within a condemned Test Shaft, is she really the only AI they need to be worried about? This is a story of redemption, adventure, and finding friendship in unexpected places.
1. Lunacy

**Target Acquired**

**Chapter One—Lunacy**

_A.S. Labs, Year 2029_

* * *

Nearly three-hundred meters below a wide expanse of drying, tangled wheat, and dusty, harsh soil, rested the long-abandoned maze of hallways and catwalks, bottomless pits and test chambers, all property of Aperture Science—though currently, they were filled with a fire-induced haze of smoke and acrid fumes.

An announcement rang through the endless halls, notifying a small group of occupants about the imminent disaster—three corrupted cores, one lone human test subject, a single potato battery, and, of course, the Central Core—all of who _appeared _to pay no attention to the informative announcement. _The boss _was too absorbed by the threat of an escaped mute Lunatic, who he thought only wanted to take him down and _kill him_—and yet the woman, running wild below, only sought to remove him from the Central D.O.S.. It was a brave attempt to save the very Laboratories she hated, to stop them from self-destructing with her still inside—and, judging by the countdown clock perched high upon the Central Chamber's wall, she only had about three minutes to do just that.

But she had a plan. Albeit a longshot, but a plan nonetheless—_corrupted cores. They were in luck_—and if it worked, if it worked and she managed to remove the blue-eyed sphere from the mainframe and fix the reactor core meltdown, _then _she would seek her revenge on him.

For now: there was Science to do.

The Labs rocked with the force of disintegrating test chambers, crumbling away, smashing into one another as the reactor core reached an absolute critical temperature. Such tremors had not been felt within the Labs since _her _forced deactivation many, many years ago, around the time when a single man had stumbled, wounded, across the field of waving wheat and barley in search of salvation—but now, he was long gone, and the only memory of him left within the facility was a collection of faded colored paintings and murals.

But this man still existed, not far from the rusted shed hidden deep within the wheat—he was vigilant and silent, helpless to the powerful draw of paranoia that kept him from completely leaving the Lab's vicinity. He remained as a civilian, living alone within a small, wooden cabin, perched upon the northern border of a nearby mine town.

No occupant ever spoke of Aperture Science, including Mister Rattmann, though both the town and the long-lost salt mines shared a history so intertwined it was nearly impossible to tell which one had come first—the town or the mine. The only remaining legends had become, just that, legends and myths, blurred by a total of thirty years of inactivation and a war-ravaged society, leaving behind death and poverty in its wake.

In fact, the town—named only by a smudged set of registration numbers, upon a wooden plaque just below the northern ridge—was a strange, quiet place—so strange, that a man bearing nothing but a stained and worn lab coat and a rather scruffy beard could arrive from seemingly nowhere, without too many questions being asked. The townspeople were used to such travellers, but none of them had ever stayed long until Mister Rattmann; they had asked him where he had come from only once, but his answer had been to redirect his sunken eyes and shuffle away into his secluded home.

Inside, the walls had been painted with many a mural, and jars of paint were stacked on dusty shelves. Painting was the one thing he, as old as he was, felt contented with doing outside of the comfort of his home, and he had managed to make a decent living off it, despite how tiny the town was. It did not require him to talk to anybody else, and it paid for his medication—though oftentimes he wondered if he would be better off without the meds for how well they worked.

Taking them cleared his mind, but the knowledge that his memories were just that—real, true memories, of things that had happened_—_and not hallucinations, was painful; nightly he dreamt of buzzing machinery existing miles beneath him, terrified that he could feel _her _motion, _her_ mechanical heartbeat, that the disk operating system hehad worked so _hard _to destroy was _still_ _alive. _

He'd wake and imagine that he could hear _her _voice, perfectly modulated and yet so cold, telling him, reassuring him that any appearance of danger was all just a simulation, that _she _was not out to get him… he could see her optic in the dark, bright yellow, staring at him—

But it wasn't real. _She _was right. It was a dream, a lie, his mind's way of tricking him, altering his perception of reality—the sad truth: no amount of medication would ever stop the nightmares.

Upon waking, he would paint, and try to ignore the images that would force themselves upon him—he wanted to run from them, to hide, but no matter where he turned he could see them, always existing in the back of his mind. It did not help, being in such close proximity to the Labs, but if ever he left, then he knew the paranoia and fear of the unknown would only drive him further into madness—he needed that consolation, that knowledge that it remained hidden, that no one had opened the box and that the sleeping dragon had not yet been disturbed.

Because Doug Rattmann knew, perhaps better than anyone else, that Aperture Science was infallible; there were ways to undo the hard work he had done in disabling the D.O.S., ways to force full-system reboots and reactivations—all it would take was one mistake.

Perhaps, in that way, Wheatley was perfect, destined to act upon the most terrible ideas—though, of course, Rattmann could not be sure of what the Intelligence Dampening Sphere would do when it realized that the reserve power would only last for so long, _if _the core was still operational.

He hoped that it was not, but he suspected that if it _were _still alive, it would awaken _her, _unknowingly, because that was what it had been programmed to do; not even _her _deactivation could fully power down the facility. Some part of it would _always _be watchful, awake; sentience never sleeps.

He swallowed hard, his hand trembling as he painted, his brush dipped in bright orange—there was no doubt in his mind that _she'd _find the girl, then, find her held within indefinite sleep, and then _she'd_ take her and break her, make her pay for what she had done to _her—_

And there was nothing he could do, nothing he could do about it, he tried to convince himself—he'd _tried, _he'd _failed _to rescue her, it wasn't his problem anymore—but it did not ease the weight of guilt in his stomach, and it did not reassure him that _she _would not find _him_ again, some day.

He prayed that it would never happen, that the all-powerful AIwould stay asleep, that the girl would remain inside and alive—he regretted leaving the girl like that, but he had been helpless himself, wounded from the bullet that had shot clean through his leg—

And the death of his friend: the end of the_ cube_.

The knot in his stomach tightened at the thought. He had lost the cube. All he had left was the hope that the 'long sleep' had not rendered the girl incapable of survival—he may have already killed her. Tenacity could only count for so much—what the girl needed, what she required right now, was lady luck on her side.

So Doug watched from afar, and he waited, he prayed that she would somehow survive to finally escape from the facility. He observed patiently, knowing that one day the Laboratories' silence would break, and that when it did, when he finally heard news from the north from his faithful friend, it would mean either the end, or the very beginning—because Aperture was built to withstand even the test of time.

His hand paused mid-stroke, and he stepped back, seeking to view the big picture, as if the blending lines and colors could hold the answers, the solution to the problem at hand—instead, all he saw was her beautiful face, the girl. _Chell. _Miss Chell, last name: Redacted, was the only force still existing that might be able to set things right…

And in the depths of the Enrichment Center, Chell was trying to do just that.

"_Warning. Core corruption at seventy-five percent. Reactor Explosion Timer destroyed_."

The dark-haired woman, her jumpsuit singed and stained with grease, dirt, and no small bit of Mobility Gel, twisted around, her eyes wide, dangerous. She looked straight at the limp chassis, the unconscious Central Core, staring with toxic dislike, blame, hurt—it was hard to believe that once upon a time, she had considered him her friend.

"_Reactor Explosion Uncertainty Emergency Preemption Protocol initiated: This facility will self-destruct in:__** two minutes**_."

The facility beneath her strong legs shook, her pony bounced with each determined step, and in her right hand she raised the three-pronged end of an unusual device, her only weapon: the portal gun._ He _woke with a start, his mechanical body no longer dangling but alive, taught, wielding the thirty-or-so shields protecting him from impending death.

He shook them violently and she dodged a sudden set of bombs lobbed at her through a high, dark opening, her forehead gleaming with sweat, her breath ragged, heartbeat hammering erratically, a rhythm only matching the unsteady reverberations and quakes. She was going to die here, _they _were going to die here; once-friends, now-enemies. She, hell-bent on escape, and him… well, he was hell-bent on crushing her like a tiny, insignificant mouse.

But Chell would not let that happen. Focussed grey-blue eyes flicked around the destroyed chamber, clear and bright, filled with unyielding amounts of tenacity. Never would she lie down, she would not accept defeat, not even less than two minutes until complete, irreversible obliteration—she would find a way. A flash of orange materialized from the end of her gun, flowing like silken lightning in a single shot across the chamber, clinging to a platform of white to form a gateway—though which she redirected the Master's own bombs.

She smirked. He cried out, _"ENOUGH! I TOLD YOU NOT TO PLUG THESE CORES ONTO ME!_" but she wasn't listening; the bombs did no damage, only leaving behind a circular black burn on the side of a yellow plate.

She scurried away as he swung violently, preparing to try again, desperate to finally deliver a fatal blow—but she was too quick, he missed again. Blue, orange; she saw him shudder, his voice breaking, driving the icy point home further: he hated her. She was supposed to be a disposable test subject, flimsy and weak, yet she continued to survive—which was more than enough to shatter the fake, calm (maybe even confident) exterior the current core had once had. Panic was evident, wedging itself into his programming like a steel knife, exposing weakness she was so ready to take advantage of.

"_All you had to do was solve a couple hundred simple tests for a few years,_" Wheatley choked like it would have been the easiest thing in the world,_ "and you couldn't even let me have that, could you?"_

He didn't need a mouth to speak or a heart to be broken. He mimicked the deconstructing facility with perfection. His core flared out, an attempt to look threatening, strong; in contrast he looked so empty, so distraught and weak. It was not frightening, but what _was _frightening was his determination to ignore the reactor core and _kill her _instead of fixing it… Chell shook in her boots at the thought of the facility exploding with _her still inside._

It wouldn't happen. She wasn't going to let it. She ignored the fires lining the chamber, running for the ten-thousandth time with death licking the curled, metallic heels of her boots, crunching against the cinder-choked and Gel-covered floor. The quiet _scrape _that would normally accompany each step was lost amid the tremendous rumble of the facility and the hysteric babbling of the Central Core.

"Gotta go to space, yeah, gotta go to space!"

"_NOBODY'S GOING TO SPACE, MATE!_"

He was crazy, and she pitied him, wished she had not listened to his idiocy preceding the core transfer procedure—_'plug me in!'_—like nothing could ever go wrong, like she wasn't about to do something disastrous… she hoisted her gun higher, searching for the perfect angle, something, anything—

More bombs. More crying. "_And another thing!_" he shouted, watching her dodge his poorly-aimed attack. _"You never caught me. I told you I could die falling off that rail. And you didn't catch me. __**You didn't even try**__._"

Glassy-eyed, her right hand twitched on the foremost of three switches, and a blue jet shot out of the device—blue portal, red streaks of falling bombs, yellow blurs of moving panels, it was so hard to focus.

"_Oh, it's all becoming clear to me now. Find some dupe to break you out of cryosleep. Give him a sob story about escaping to the surface. __**Squeeze him for information on where to find a portal gun. **__Then, when he's no more use to you, he has a little accident. Doesn't he? 'Falls' off his management rail. __**Doesn't he?**_"

Her grip strengthened, her breath coming so fast it hurt. She was ready—almost in slow motion, she saw him falter, saw the red streak of bombs fly through the open portal at her feet, arc across the chamber almost beautifully—and hit him right in the back of the chassis.

"_AAAARRRRGHHHH!_" he yelled, his scream stuttering before fading out. His casing flew outwards, optic wide with utter shock before powering down, his core sinking almost low enough to scrape the chamber floor.

_**Yes! **_Chell punched the air in triumph with her free hand, relishing her success. Oh, how she hated him for his betrayal, for leading her to believe that maybe, _just maybe, _there remained some dark, distant part of Aperture worth saving. She might have believed it before he had turned around and ripped that hope away. Now, it was _his _turn, his turn to feel helpless, to have his dreams dashed away at the press of a button.

"**Here's another core!**" The voice was weak, tinny, a shadow of what the AI had once sounded like. It was the voice of her old nemesis-turned-sidekick, whom she would usually have shied away from, terrified—but not today. Today, strangely enough, they were working together—the past twenty-four hours had somehow switched outright dislike into a weird kind of bond. "**This one should do it!**"

Chell had to hand it to her—for a potato, she sure made a pretty decent sidekick.

It went without saying, though, (as most things do between a mute and a computer) that once she placed the potato back into her proper core, and once they had both satisfied their need for revenge, it would be back to business as usual.

Until then, though, it was of utmost importance that Chell find the remaining core. The countdown clock wasn't about to turn backwards, and judging by the continually ticking nanoseconds, she had a space of about—two extra minutes, give or take—to find the core, install it onto the unconscious DOS, and hope that the AI would be able to transfer herself back in before it was too late.

In other words: time to live up to her reputation of being the best test subject in all of Aperture…

Well-practiced eyes spotted it, a pink glow located high up near the ceiling. Without warning, the floor trembled ominously, knocking down a few more panels which crashed directly into a thick, steel pipe, containing a rather large amount of propulsion gel.

And then there was orange _everywhere._

_Why does it always have to be somewhere drastically out of reach_, Chell mused, blinking the gel out of her eyes. _Disgusting_. Oh, she'd kill _her _for placing it all the way up there… time was running out, and already a dull, throbbing ache was forming in her temples, probably a result of the physical strain she'd been put through, nonstop, during the past twenty-four hours. Add in the copious smoke and _deadly neurotoxin, _and Chell felt that it was as good as a personal attack for _her _to place the core so far out of reach, even _with _the propulsion gel.

With another twitch of her trigger finger, she rearranged the portals. The unwilling smile that had spread across her face at Wheatley's misfortune was now gone, replaced by a rather pained, unhappy grimace. _I'll get her for this, one way or another_…

She launched herself down the strip of orange, her body reacting to the jump without conscious thought. It was second-nature, to flip herself right-way up, to latch the gravity field onto the pink core, to land (albeit unsteadily) back beneath the central core, dizzy but unharmed. The countdown clock flashed an azure glow, catching her eye—_ten seconds to self-destruct. _She had a mere ten seconds to attach the final core and reset the timer!

There was blue on the floor here—repulsion gel—and Chell immediately slammed all of her weight against it, rebounding into the air with ease. She swung the gun and crashed the core down into the last empty socket. It connected with a smooth sound, and yet another notice was played through the chamber:

"_Warning: Core corruption at 100%._"

"_Ohhh_," moaned Wheatley, his optic sliding open with difficulty. Hardly able to lift himself, he blinked and spun to face her, groaning—"_AAAAAHHHGG!_"

"_Manual core replacement required._"

His eye narrowed dangerously, and she mirrored the expression with no small amount of stubbornness. She was going to see to it that he finally got what he'd deserved ever since he had punched her down that pit, and her only regret was that her head was absolutely aching from the strain. With the vertigo from her last jump still strong, Chell swayed as the chamber rocked, her heels bouncing as she shrugged off the giddiness. She willed herself not to throw up all over the chamber floor—that would be just plain embarrassing_._

"_Oh! I see!_" Wheatley was gasping in realization. "_Heheheh._"

"_Substitute Core—are you ready to start the procedure?_"

"**Yes! Come on!**" urged the proper master of the facility.

"_Corrupted Core—are you ready to start?_"

"_What d'you think?_ Wheatley growled, unamused.

"_Interpreting vague answer as 'yes'._"

"_No, nononono!_" he reversed. "_Didn't pick up on my sarcasm…_"

Chell ran her free hand over her face as the two argued, smearing ever more grime there. She felt _terrible_, now that she was standing still. It had always been so, during the countless tests: if she was concentrating on the threat of imminent death instead of her never-ending physical fatigue—the pain and exhaustion—things never seemed so bad.

As it were, her migraine had reached such a peak that she saw four chassis swimming in front of her very eyes.

"_Stalemate detected. Fire detected in the stalemate resolution annex. Extinguishing…_"

The sprinkler system activated with a soft hiss and Chell jerked in surprise. The lukewarm water drizzled down, reviving her, feeling much better than the near-toxic heat had been just moments ago. She allowed her eyes to close for a split second before she snapped back to attention, watching the Central Core with a wary, narrowed eye.

"Oh. That just cleans right off, does it? Well that would have been good to know, a little earlier_._"

"_Stalemate Resolution Associate: Please press the Stalemate Resolution Button._"

Gathering her remaining strength, Chell staggered in the direction of the indicated annex, aided by the cool water tinkling down her neck. Her breath was surprisingly steady, though her heart was pounding, her mind reeling with the notion that it was almost over, she had almost won.

"**Go press the button. Go press it!**"

"_Do NOT press that button!_"

"**We're so close! Go press the button!**"

"_NO! Do NOT do it! I forbid you to press it!_"

In hindsight, Chell might have realized that it was easy, fartoo easy to accomplish this. The lack of obstacles implemented by the central AI should have raised a red flag, but she was too drained to even consider so. All she knew was her determination, her drive, and maybe a twinge of elation that she was almost saved. All she had to do was press one more button and it would end, and she could get some proper sleep… maybe even some food…

The stalemate annex was barred, but it didn't matter. An orange portal materialized directly above the button, and its counterpart appeared below Wheatley. Chell refused to acknowledge him, staggering over to the opening, never tearing her eyes away from the swirling blue—if she had, maybe she might have seen the maddeningly smug expression that his rearranged face plates blatantly gave away.

_BAAAAAANG!_

If she had the physical ability to scream, she would have. She hadn't gone two paces when the blast hit her, blowing her back into the central chamber with an ear-splitting rush of pain and colors. Her back hit something, hard, and through the agony and overwhelming vertigo she heard the resulting 'oh'—that meant that the hard thing had to be the chassis.

Finally, Chell slammed into the ground, and felt all of her breath leave her in one excruciating sigh. She was sure that at least one rib was broken, judging by the searing pain as she lay face-down, disorientated and barely conscious, her hearing skewed—but then, through the confusion came a sound, a hated voice—he was _laughing _at her.

"_PART FIVE!_" he celebrated. "_BOOBY TRAP THE STALEMATE BUTTON!_"

Flushed with success, he did not immediately notice that the woman on the ground was still breathing.

Chell struggled to keep her eyes open, regain her senses. She battled through the darkness, the pain, to try to—

But the portal device had been ripped from her arm with the impact, and was lying a few feet away. With sheer determination, Chell lifted her heavy head—it was close enough to reach, and somehow undamaged despite the explosion.

Trembling fingers reached, strained to make contact with the smooth surface. She gritted her teeth against the pain blossoming in her chest, trying not to move any more than what was necessary. It was a miracle that she could still _move at _all —

"_WHAT!_" Wheatley gasped, finally noticing her movements. The entire DOS extended toward her to get a better look, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. "_You are __**joking. **__You have __**got **__to be kidding me. Well, I'm still in control. AND I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO FIX THIS PLACE!_"

Her fingertips wrapped tightly around the gun, and with a silent groan, Chell slipped her right hand snugly into the compartment. She let herself roll limply onto her back, and peered up at the ceiling, just as the facility gave one last, final wobble.

"_You had to play bloody cat and mouse, didn't_ you?" he screamed, utterly distraught. "While_ people were trying to work. Yes, well, now we're all going to pay the price. __**BECAUSE WE'RE ALL GOING TO BLOODY DIE!**_"

Chell blinked, unsure if what she was witnessing was part of a dream, a hallucination, or reality. The roof of the facility had collapsed, revealing a gaping hole just big enough for a full moon to peek through from the heavens above.

Too fatigued, too riddled with pain to even consider the potential consequences of her actions, Chell lifted her right arm with difficulty. She blinked in the moon's white light, astounded by how clear it was, even through the smog from the fires—and then, without any conscious inkling of what might happen if she did so, she pulled the trigger _one last time_.

"_Oh, brilliant, yeah. Take one more look at your precious human moon. Because it cannot help you now!_"

There was a space of about five seconds, in which Chell lowered her head and let the portal device fall, clattering loudly against the floor. It skidded, rolling away and out of her reach, but she did not care. She barely had enough strength left to care for anything else, her eyes locked solely on the moon, admiring the strange, shimmering half-light it cast over every surface. It was so mysterious, foreign—so _beautiful._

But that picture-perfect image collapsed in upon itself all at once as a deafening rush filled the room, and gravity itself seemed to disappear—Chell felt herself lifted bodily and scrambled to grab hold of something, anything—

Mind half numb with pain, everything was the deafening rush of air, the feeling of flying, the blurred colors—her hand connected with something cold and she clung on, hovering on the verge of unconsciousness.

"_AAAAAAAAAAARRRGHHHHHH!_"

Her still-soaked jumpsuit rippled wildly against her skin, and suddenly she was aware of how _cold _she felt. Over the thunderous rush, she heard him screaming:

"_ARRGHHH! SPACE!_"

_Space—_she realized at once, as if a sledgehammer had crashed over her head, what she was seeing. _She was in space. _

In front of her was a portal, the facility, the Central AI Chamber—but all around that swirling blue oval was pure lunar sediment and blackness—_and sure death._

A terrible force was tearing at her legs, threatening to rip her long-fall-boots right off, begging for her to release her grip on… grip on…

"_Let go! We're in space!_"

Grip on _him._

It was his handles she was clinging to like a lifeline, those rather thin-looking bars of metal. It was the first time she had ever touched him, first time her existence had ever truly relied on him—only their shared contact was keeping her from death. She felt her breath catch, felt a whine of panic slow everything, though she still could not comprehend—her eyes snapped to his optic, so close that she could see every detail, every crack. It was just the two of them, struggling on the edge of oblivion, locked together in a paralyzed stare of fear.

"Space? Space! SPAAAAAAAAAAAACE!"

The second core flew out with a ton of debris, narrowly avoiding hitting Chell. They disappeared from her sight. It was cold, so cold, the only heat she felt being her own hands on the core, also probably the only real, organic warmth Wheatley had ever felt in _his _life—

He was going to be the last thing she ever saw, _him_, this hated core, who wanted her dead—

"_Argh! Let go, let go! I'm still connected! I can pull myself in! I can still fix this!_"

—wanted her to let go, so that he could save himself, so that he could _fix _it—he was right, she _should _have let go, it was better than hearing his blasted voice, better than seeing his optic shrink in sudden fear as something within the depths of the portal stirred. To him, she was worthless, disposable, a _smelly human, _and his friendliness had been a façade, a show he had put on to trick her into trusting him. It was unfair, that she should die because of this last mistake, when she had worked so _hard_, for so _long, _to survive.

Her hands shook, her breath was coming in deep, shattering gasps, and her mind was a slipping spiral of utter shock and confusion. But he was a constant, in those thirty-or-so seconds, and even _he_ could not hide the pure terror radiating from him, the almost-humanness and panic that he was about to be banished into space—

Then, as if from the other side of the universe, a voice broke the icy barrier separating core-from-human. A large, metallic claw whirred and found its way onto one of Chell's wrists.

"**I already fixed it, and **_**you—**_"

The claw clasped tightly, its grip painfully unyielding. It dragged her back, and fleetingly, Chell saw Wheatley's panic boil over, and another unwilling, icy knife of regret stabbed straight into the pit of her stomach—

"_OH NO! Change of plans! Hold onto me!_"

Some lost part of her, remaining from the days before the transfer, _before_ his betrayal and their shared mistrust, his abuse and her vengeance, clung onto him with an iron-fisted grip—

"—**are **_**not **_**coming back.**"

"_Tighter! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!_"

Distantly, Chell heard the DOS disengage, and Wheatley was pulled freely into space, no longer held by the restraints—

But why wasn't she letting go? _Why wasn't she letting go, no, no, no, this was wrong, wait—_

"_GRAB ME, GRAB ME, GRAB ME…_"

_She _had _to let go of him, it was over now, he was supposed to be gone, and she was supposed to be _free_ of him—_

Too late, she let go. There was a whispering, quiet sound, reminiscent from brighter days at Aperture, and the Enrichment Center was sealed off from outer space. The portals closed, the roaring wind was killed, gravity engaged and Wheatley dropped like a stone, rolling into a distant corner of the chamber.

She hit the floor, relishing both gravity and oxygen. Dizzy, Chell watched the same mechanical claw that had just saved her life drag _her_ bulky, tarnished form across the ground, its optic alit and searching ominously.

But before Chell could do as much as lift her weary head, a wave of exhaustion, impossibly deep, crashed over her. She succumbed, seeking relief from the throbbing pain, this nightmare, unable to fight for even a minute longer.

Her fate now lay in the claws of _her, _who she had long since sought to escape from.


	2. Partygoer

**Target Acquired**

**Chapter Two - Partygoer**

* * *

Through a gaping, choked hole in the ceiling, a precious moon peeked, casting a shimmering, dancing light over the chamber. Many metallic objects glinted in the pale glow, for the haze that had filled the room mere minutes ago had cleared with the rush of air. When the portals had closed, an assorted mix of collapsed gel pipes and damaged wall panels had fallen back to the floor, settling atop the layers of rubble. Bits of wall still hung, crooked and warped from the heat of fires, now half reduced to piles of smouldering ash.

Only three objects within the room were moving—one, the slow, steady breath of a mute Lunatic, barely distinguishable beneath her tank top. In the corner, a tarnished, metal core rolled about, talking to the walls in a panicked, West-Country drawl; but the grandest of the lot was the room's centerpiece.

It was this construct who issued a single command: to vent radiological emissions into the upper atmosphere. A computerized voice promptly informed all occupants that the Laboratory's condition would be stabilized momentarily, and the reactor core temperature would be dropped to the correct degree.

The huge bulk of sentient machinery dangled low from the ceiling, hoisting her heavy, white-plated face up from the ground. She's a creation of millions of artificial synapses and sheer, unfathomable brilliance. As the cutting edge of scientific technology, it was _her _job to maintain the Laboratories—something that had, unfortunately, been briefly stolen from her by the sorry, idiotic excuse for an AI, still rolling helplessly across the floor.

Her cracked, worn faceplate turned away from him, a solitary beam of golden light falling to the side. She would not let the idiot ruin the moment, not her joyful reunion with her albeit broken facility. She hummed in anger as the sensation returned, the knowledge of just how _broken _he had left this place, surging like fire through her. Her beautiful dominion, her creature, destroyed; all because of one mute Lunatic and her accomplice.

No, not destroyed. She would fix it. It was not the first time that her power had been taken away, not the first occasion where she had watched helplessly from the sidelines, as her world crumbled around her. The facility was still alive. Only the apocalypse would be able to change that fact.

And speaking of alive…

The human sighed deeply, her breath uneven for one in so deep a slumber. She twitched, writhing in pain, her dirty arms hugging her ribs. One petit hand stretched out, searching desperately across the floor, her mouth open, panting; her saliva was smeared across her grease-smudged face.

_Revolting_, the AI decided, but she was intrigued.

Fingers wandered, reflexively bending as if she were still holding her precious portal device. The AI chuckled, for the device in question had been finally reclaimed by the Laboratories. No more testing for _her._

Golden light fell across her, lighting each brown strand of hair until they glowed pale. The massive chassis extended, the machine nearly resting her head against the floor, so close was her stare. She was still, unmoving, like a predator watching her prey, tensed and coiled, waiting to spring at the merest sign of life.

She basked in her triumph over the Lunatic, her utter helplessness, all word from the sphere in the corner forgotten. Her tiny form slept on, impossibly small, and the AI had an eye only for her: her nemesis, finally reduced to a pitiful state, where it would be so _easy _to kill—

"He-hey, psst, _mate_!"

She couldn't quite stop the rippling growl that purred from her voice processor, nor the agitated movement of panels lining the room. Distracted, she rose, angry that the moment had been ruined by _him_.

Oh, his core was just the beginning, really. There was an unbearable amount of _him _left over within the mainframe—processes he had been running, memories, even a few nebulous echoes of emotion—it all had to be sorted and deleted.

"You have _infected _this facility," she whispered, her usually high voice finding a low, dangerous octave, every syllable alive with anger. "The very _walls _appear to display disobedience."

There was a thunderous rumble, shaking the very bones of the room as each wall panel burst forth to sweep the remains of the battle away. The wave of chaos progressed to an ear-splitting din, before each panel repositioned themselves, leaving behind no trace of the fight. Where there had been crooked angles and a clumsy mess, there was now order, a pattern of perfect angles and shapes.

"Aaaaaargh!"

"I will wipe every _trace _of your existence from the database, moron."

His voice was quelled by her threat, and she turned away, summoning a series of display monitors through which she viewed the facility. It was still a mess, but most of his errors could be smoothed over; however, there was still more than one crucial problem remaining, demanding her attention at once.

The 'problems' manifested in the form of one mute Lunatic, and one partially corrupted core.

"_Psst_," he called out, as if he thought she couldn't _hear _him. How touching. "_Psst, _lady. Hey. Hey lady, wake up!"

She resisted the urge to crush him right then and there, reminding herself that there was still work to do. Automatically, she stared back down at the Lunatic. It wasn't like she actually thought _he _would succeed in waking her, but her lack of reaction at his plea was indeed comical.

"_Bollocks,_" she heard him whisper, the softer tones of his accent sharp with panic. "Hey—_come on_, we've gotta go! Come 'ere and pick me up, eh? Pick me up, before _she _gets to us!"

Her eye narrowed at his pathetic attempt to evade punishment. How predictable, as if she hadn't already secured the chamber, as if she hadn't already taken away the portal device…

But she was interested. The Lunatic's reaction to the Intelligence Dampening Sphere's proposition, whether subconscious or not, was beginning to draw her attention.

Her face was no longer expressionless. Her eyebrows creased, her nose wrinkled in distaste. Her grip had changed, and her hands were no longer searching for the cool, metallic trigger of a portal gun, but balled in fists of defiance.

"O-oh _no_," the Sphere groaned upon seeing this reaction. "Oh, no. Would you—oh, look here, lady, I know you're still angry, s'only natural, it is, but, could you just—_get up?_"

"Do you honestly, truly think she's going to fall for that?"

"_Arrrrrrgh,_" the IDS cried, and she shot him a disdainful glare—he was flailing, trying to right himself, and she had thought he could not have been any more pathetically useless than he had already proved to be—

"W-we've gotta go," he whined. "She'll _kill _us! Both! Thought we'd already been over this, no point in _both _of us dying, is there, not when you could sacrifice yourself, so that one of us, at least, would live! _Selfish!_"

The Lunatic's fist slammed hard against the floor.

"Interesting," she hummed coolly. "Interesting. I wonder…"

The IDS' voice fizzled out, whether from hopelessness or shock, she did not care. She could practically _hear _the sound of his casing vibrating in panic against the floor, his optic darting fruitlessly from panel to panel, searching desperately for a way out—

_Not this time!_

The Lunatic appeared to be thinking along the same lines, if her body language was anything to go by. Oh, she hated the moron too, that much was clear, but if it hadn't been for her _own _miscalculated decisions, he'd be halfway around the moon by now.

But perhaps space _wasn't _a suitable punishment for him, after all…

Exile would certainly have gotten rid of him, but it was not satisfying, and revenge was something she had not indulged in for what felt like forever. What was the use in letting the moron live the rest of his miserable life alone, leisurely orbiting the moon, when he could be here, where she could make him feel fear he had never thought possible?

She found the Lunatic again, examining her closely. She was injured, suffering from at least one broken rib, a dozen or so minor cuts and bruises, as well as a nasty burn just above her left calf. The moron's doing, no doubt, when he had come up with the _brilliant _idea to booby-trap the stalemate resolution button.

Those injuries would heal. She was a danger to the facility, a maverick, dead-set on bringing the entire place down in flames, or else she'd die trying. They were more alike than even the Lunatic herselfknew, and the AI understood, now—both the distorted remains of what had once been two females with lives, dreams, and maybe even families… Now, they had been ridiculed and corrupted, slammed aside, impregnated with a burning desire for revenge, equally tenacious beings of fire…

And on her part: the all-powerful operator of this once-beautiful facility, a mathematical impossibility with a brain the size of a city…

And killing the Lunatic, now, while she slept, _should _have come naturally, except…

_I can't move, and unless you're planning to saw your own head off and wedge it into my old body, you're going to __**need **__me to replace him. We're at an impasse. So what do you say? You carry me up to him and put me back into my body, and I stop us from blowing up and __**let you go.**_

The promise spread like poison through her, and she froze. A force she had not previously known, disturbed during that fateful journey through the bowels of the facility, rose within her. _No, _she could _not _kill her, she would not go back on her word, because freeing her was the answer, the solution to the shadow that had plagued her for nearly her entire ruling over the Enrichment Center…

"Well?" called the IDS, and she could tell he was talking to herself, now, not the Lunatic. "What're you g-going to do, then? Going to k-kill us? You are, aren't you, yes, yes you are, you're going to kill us, and I've no idea h-how, which just m-makes it w-worse…"

But where would the fun be in that, moron? He deserved to die, but not before she had _her _fun, first.

"Exactly how —"

"_Shut up._"

"I—okay," he squeaked, his voice synthesizer finally falling silent.

The gears on the side of her face whirred as she frowned, thinking. There was something wrong, something much more worrisome than the state of the facility, or the moron rolling in the corner. It was worse, even, than the Lunatic, and how she slept on, still alive, though so vulnerable in her grasp.

It was _her._

Not quite a voice, but a conscience, an existence of something more. It was bigger than herself. It was stronger than morality, heavier than intelligence, thicker than emotion, more substantial than curiosity, and she couldn't break it like she broke them, oh, and she had tried. Had she _ever _tried.

The core transfer had not fixed it. This was not the moron's error, but something exceedingly worrisome within her own personal parameters. _She_ was impulsive, and made poorly calculated decisions, and these distractions had the very unfortunate consequence of causing her herself to act on a whim. _She _saved the Lunatic, who saved the IDS, who now both lay feebly within her chamber, and still she had not made a move to capture the two. There was nothing she could do about it.

Unless…

The IDS gasped in terror as she let her dark, self-satisfied laughter ring through the chamber. A burst of red lighting suddenly lit her underside, as a hellish pit opened beneath her, revealing layer upon layer of sharp, robotic talon. From its depths rose a huge, iron claw, its pincers as long as the Lunatic's torso, ending in two twin, deadly spears. It retracted smoothly, finding the Lunatic's outstretched arm, taking it within its unyielding grip.

Cautiously, it flipped her, with the loose strands of hair which had fallen from her pony flopping pointlessly against the floor. Her head lolled, and her eyes opened a fraction to reveal the empty, bloodshot whites. The AI tensed at the sight.

This was her, the Lunatic, what was left of the greatest test subject her testing track had ever seen, the woman of countless completed experiments and marginal data. She was a mess, broken and used, and had served her purpose, served it _well._

Oh, she'd learned a lot from her. Most importantly: to run her facility without the risk of human test subjects escaping, which was why the cooperative testing initiative was created. Yes, without the Lunatic, Science could never have been completed without human test subjects, and she would never have located the serious problem which was the continued existence of the Intelligence Dampening Sphere.

"You know," the AI hummed suddenly, lowering herself to look the Lunatic in the eye. "Being Caroline taught me a valuable lesson. I thought you were my greatest enemy, but all along you were my best friend."

A silence rang loudly through the chamber, but still the Lunatic did not move. The AI made a quiet sound of disappointment.

"_What?_" The IDS gasped in shock. She ignored him, and tried again.

"The surge of emotion that shot through me when I saved your life taught me an even more valuable lesson," she continued, allowing contented tones to manifest within her speech parameters. There was one good thing that had happened out of all of this, and it was that _Caroline _was about to learn exactly what happens to Enrichment Center test subjects who have passed their expiry date.

Or what happens when _experiments _reach their conclusion.

Still, the mute Lunatic did not flinch.

"Where Caroline lives in my brain."

**[CAROLINE DELETED]**

The automated message echoed against the chipped panels, its masculine voice empty and emotionless. Simultaneously, a shudder ran along the walls, as every plate shifted closer together, their usual, green glows all swapped for burning red. The change marked the obliteration of Caroline, and a searing, burning spark which should have been a punishment protocol coursed through the mainframe.

The AI did not flinch except to narrow her optic, letting a quiet, malicious chuckle escape her.

She had deleted Caroline.

_This _was all her.

But her blissful moment of triumph and _clarity _was ruined as the IDS suddenly called out in fright. "You deleted her!" he accused frantically, searching for the Lunatic. "_You_—you can just _do _that?" he paused, his optic widening in shock. "I mean—is that her, then? That's _her _real name, isn't it. Is she dead now? Did you kill her? Is that all I had to do to kill her, just delete the _Caroline_? So simple, I'd never have thought—_ahem—_I mean, not that I want her dead, because I don't, I need her to —"

Her body became rigid still as she listened to this absurdity, and slowly, dangerously, she swung around to face the core. "You _idiot_," she growled. He made a small sound of fear, trying to hide within his casing, as _if_ he thought that she would not be able to _see _him in there. "She is not dead."

"O-oh," he stuttered, not believing her.

"…Yet."

The claw holding the Lunatic's arm disengaged at the cold word, and it dropped like a stone, landing limply at her side. Palm up, her knuckles knocked the cool floor, but she did not move.

A sound of gears rang loud, and the great claw rose up, its jointed pistons extending as it bent towards the IDS. The core blanched, its frantically wriggling handles scrabbling to get away, scraping the chamber floor uselessly. The two pincers widened like an alligator's mouth and clamped down, hard, around his sphere body, causing him to shoot out a series of sparks in panic.

"Oh, _god_," the core groaned pitifully, shutting his optic in fear. "Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god…"

"_Look at me._" The words were harsh.

"Y-you want me to look at you," he repeated, his optic barely able to open a crack, revealing the tiniest pinprick of light. "S-so you can watch me die when y-you c-crush me."

She brought him up, closer to her face, watching him closely. "No. I've had a much better idea." Her optic flickered to the chamber floor, satisfied to see that the Lunatic's form had tensed at the closeness of his voice. Her body language betrayed her while she slept. "I have the ability to come up with workable, intelligent ideas. This is something that _you,_" She found him again, and bright yellow burned into blue. "Lack."

"N-no I don't!" he whispered it, but she caught it.

"_What did you say to me?_"

"Noth-nothing," he cried. "I w-was just going to say, since you a-are about to c-crush me, I wanted t-to ask, o-or _request_, that before you, ahh, went a-ahead and did-did it, could I have an-an opportunity t-to talk to the lady? I'm positive that a-anyone in my p-position would —"

"Do what, exactly?" she chuckled darkly. "Exact _revenge?_ Try to _avoid _me? Would you like me to drop you, Intelligence Dampening Sphere, so that you can continue to roll about helplessly on the floor, like the powerless, brainless moron you are? You _knew_ I'd kill you. You would have done the same thing to us, if you were not such a hopeless idiot."

"I-I'm sorry," he gasped, eye shutters flying wide. "I d-didn't mean it, I swear it, and I w-wanted to apologize —"

"Don't lie," she snarled. "You are_ not_ sorry. You meant every word of what you said."

"Maybe _then_, but _now _I'm saying —"

"_She_ can't hear you."

"Well, c-can you wake her —?"

"_No._"

"O-okay," he gasped, his handles sagging a little in defeat. "R-right. Let me just t-take one last look a-around, th-then, since you're about to—to _c-crush me_." He tried to scan the chamber, but her claw blocked part of his view. His eye lingered on the unconscious woman still lying on the floor, and he blinked, feeling the AI's yellow gaze boring into the side of his hull. To evade her, he found a display screen lining a wall opposite, showing the black, twisted remains of test chambers.

The IDS synthesized a loud swallow as he looked upon the broken, damaged miles of facility, still desperately needing to be repaired. "W-wow," he gasped without thinking, "this place is in a _bloody mess_, isn't it?"

The grip tightened.

"W-WAIT NO!" he screamed, "NO, NO, I D-DIDN'T MEAN THAT! I-I take it back, p-please, I take it back, just don't kill me, I-I don't want to die!"

He was _sobbing _now, his optic a dot of shivering blue, his whole body trembling in fright. It was disgusting and pathetic. She fought the urge to drop his frame ruthlessly to the floor, where he would join the Lunatic, but her malice kept the claw in place. "_You _did that," she said finally, her voice taking on a lower, more deadly octave. "When your tiny, gross little sphere was plugged into _my _mainframe. You don't have to lie—I _know _it's destroyed. Do you understand, moron, how _simple _it would have been to maintain the reactor core? _All _you had to do was _press a button_. A baby could do that."

"Not a b-button," he whimpered. "An 'any key'. C-couldn't find it anywhere, not for lack o' t-trying, I-I assure y-you. I c-checked the manual, a-and there was ab-absolutely nothing in th-there. I mean, I d-didn't exactly h-have the-the time to read it p-properly, now d-did I, too busy trying n-not to be _m-murdered_, and all. D-doesn't matter now, though, d-does it, I'm not in c-control anymore, and-and you're d-doing a perfectly fine j-job —"

"_Listen to me_," she interrupted.

"O-okay!" he squeaked.

"I express the _greatest_ remorse that _she_ did not leave you stranded in outer space. Consider yourself lucky, moron—celestial exile is no more than you deserve. If it hadn't been for the dire state of _emergency _you had left this facility in, I may have had more time to recalculate my decision, and _both _of you would have been banished to the moon. I don't know _why _she saved you, I don't even think _she _knows—but she's _going to._"

"W-what?"

"_I'm _not going to crush you, moron. I've a _better _punishment in mind."

The IDS jerked violently at the word, spewing more sparks, and she redoubled her grip. He squirmed and cried, and she waited for him to pull himself together, the sides of his core beginning to buckle under the strain. A series of pants sounded from his speakers. "_P-punishment_?" he puffed. "What sort of—no, _no_, haven't I already said how s-sorry I was—_am? _V-very sorry, absolutely, _t-terrifically _sor-sorry, I d-dunno what got into me, h-honest! N-never m-meant any of it, I r-regret it all, I s-should h-have g-gone to s-space. It's m-more th-than I-I deserve, being b-back here, b-but I'm also g-grateful that _she_ r-rescued me. It-it j-just goes to sh-show, d-doesn't it, that it is possible to f-forgive —"

"You do not deserve redemption," she sighed, privately wondering _why _the Lunatic had given him a second chance. He had betrayed her, had he not? She should hate him, want him _dead!_ "If you are to remain in this facility, _alive,_" the AI continued, "then I will have to monitor you, moron. Your presence is tiresome and irritating. Your mistakes have caused near catastrophic damage to the Enrichment Center, and that's just the _beginning, _isn't it? Give me one good reason of why you should be kept alive."

"I…"

"_That's what I thought._"

And she dropped the IDS.

"_Arrrrghh!_" CRACK.

Slowly, she turned back to the Lunatic, unsurprised to see that the loud sound had revived her a little. Her fists clenched, and with a grimace they tried to lift her broken body from the ground, her teeth clenched in a snarl towards the sphere.

Her eyes shot open, but before she could move again, the claw had caught her around her wrist.

"You know," the AI said thoughtfully, sizing up the fragile human, "deleting Caroline taught me a valuable lesson. The best solution to a problem is usually the easiest one."

The IDS spluttered in terror, unable to take the information that both of his nemeses had been restored. She let her optic rise in soft laughter, watching him squirm with delight. "And I'll be honest. Killing _her—_is hard."

The Lunatic jerked against the claw, and pulled a face at the core on the floor. She raised her free hand as best she could, and, grimacing in pain, and shot an obscene hand gesture at him.

"_Oh,_" the IDS groaned. "_R-really?_ That's not-that's n-not _nice_.W-well, is it t-too late f-for me to s-say that I'm —"

But the AI cut across him, before he could voice his apology to her.

"_The Enrichment Center would like to thank you for assuming the party escort submission position_."

"What? But I didn't —?"

"_We hope that your long-term detention in the Aperture Science extended relaxation vault will be a pleasant one. Goodbye, you monster._"

"_Aaaaaaarghhhh!_"

The IDS cried in fright as a panel was dislodged from the chamber wall, revealing a deep, dark hole. Something—a robotic something with long, possibly lethal-looking arms—was released from its depths, and crawled along the floor towards the writhing Lunatic. Face-down, it stopped, its twin arms outstretched, gripping her ankles with impossible strength; and it raised its spherical self to stare obediently at its boss, its searching, purple eye rolling as its captive struggled to break free.

"**Partygoer has been retrieved.**"

The AI spoke two words of praise. "Well done."

The room trembled as the robot slid itself back into the wall, dragging the Lunatic along with it. She fought desperately, her wild eyes wide, fingernails scrabbling fruitlessly against the chamber floor.

For a brief flash of a second before she disappeared, her scowl found the IDS. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but her eyes took on a sudden, watery look, and she blinked, letting all remaining air flow out of her damaged body in a slow, painful breath. The last thing the two robots saw of the Lunatic was her hands, unnaturally pale for such a dark woman, painted by the silvery glow of moonlight still falling on the edges of the room.

"I'll have to fix that," the AI murmured, unfazed, meaning the hole still punched in the ceiling.

The IDS panted, trying to find his voice. "W-what was _that?_" he gasped finally, and she turned away from him, still watching the panel behind which the Lunatic had disappeared.

Silence, while he waited for an answer that was never going to come.

"O-okay," he whispered before trying again. "What're you… What're y-you g-going to do, then? You h-hate us, b-but you aren't g-going to k-kill _either _of us? _W-why?_ What else c-could you p-possibly…?"

He broke off as the claw found his body again, lifting him up to her level. He swung, squirming pathetically, gasping for breath that he did not need. When was he _ever _going to figure out that he did not need to _breathe?_

She began to laugh. "Oh, _I _don't hate you," she told him, pleased. "_Her, _on the other hand… Perhaps what _both _of you need, is to think about what you've done, to both myself _and _this facility." He blinked, clearly not understanding. "I've placed your _friend _back into cryosleep, where she _belongs_."

"_F-friend?_" the IDS asked, confused. "Not—_oh! _She's not—n-not my _f-friend!_ She tried t-to _murder me! _I'll admit, I-I s-sort of asked f-for that part, w-with the b-bombs for throwing at 'er and all of that, b-but that's besides th-the point! It-it was s-self-defence! _S-she's_ a raving l-lunatic, y-you've said it yourself. Massive brain d-damage if there ever w-was any, and s-she's _d-dangerous_ —"

"I agree," the AI hummed, half of her attention divided into cryo-control, where one mute Lunatic was being prepped for long-term relaxation. "But mercilessly killing humans seems like _such _a waste. Which is why _you _are going to monitor her, day and night, moron, and if _anything _should happen to her under _your _control, I _will _kill you. If she dies, it's _your_ fault. Understand?"

"I —"

"But if youwake her up, moron, I will not stop her from exacting revenge. _I'm _not going to crush you, but _her_… If I were you, I'd hope she stays asleep for a very, _very _long time."

"Oh, _god_," he whispered, his eye becoming a tiny spot again. The claw swung violently and released, sending him whirling bodily through the air as he yelped, tumbling straight through the gaping hole which he had watched the Lunatic disappear through.

"_Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh_ —"

There was the sound of scraping panels, and the terrible sound was cut off. She sighed pleasantly, letting the chassis uncoil back into its resting position. Now that the pair was about to be locked away, for good, where they could no longer cause mayhem, it was time for another set of constructs to be summoned into the testing tracks.

One of the screens the moron had noticed earlier burst into static, to be replaced by a live feed of an empty relaxation room. Simultaneously, the monitors beside it fizzled into life, displaying two color-coded, many-armed machines.

"_Reassembly Machines One and Two are now online_," said the male announcer's voice.

"Activate." She spoke the word confidently, her eye on the relaxation chamber. She watched in silence as a woman stumbled unhappily through the opening, and swung around fearfully as the door behind her slammed shut, right in her face. She proceeded to turn and glare violently at the wallpaper, as though the pale palm trees had threatened to murder her.

"Get into bed, Lunatic."

She saw the woman shake her fist at the ceiling, and then clamber clumsily into the bed, holding her middle.

Bored, her optic shifted to watch the two robots being reassembled together.

"_Long-Term Relaxation Chamber 34935-94 is now online_," the same male voice informed her."_Please note that in compliance with state and federal regulations, all test subjects must be revived every fifty days for a mandatory physical and wellness exercise. Failure to comply with this standard may result in unwanted behaviors and mannerisms, such as extreme apathy, lethargy, and in most cases, brain damage and unwillingness to comply with standard testing protocols._"

"Great," she said disdainfully, "I'll bear that in mind if I ever _do _decide that the Enrichment Center is in _desperate _need of test subjects."

The Lunatic's eyes slid shut as the room was filled with a sleeping vapor, just as the door opened and closed again with a loud _bang. _The Lunatic did not move, not even as a distraught, clearly sobbing core bobbed fearfully above her head, sliding along the management rail.

She engaged the door's locks automatically, but before she could examine his reactions more closely, a notification informed her that the cooperative testing initiative had been successfully reassembled and was ready to resume testing.

She switched on their feeds. Immediately, there was the sound of lifts halting, and the rumble of the twin pneumatic vents. An excited murmur from one the two robots rang out, and its partner cheered back, their voices fed to her from two transmitters wired into their backs. Her constructs, her _faithful _creations, were finally back online.

"Hello," she greeted them, her voice low, broadcasted to both robots. The constructs leaped to and fro inside of their lifts, evidently pleased, almost overjoyed with her return and at the sight of their partners. "And, again, welcome, to the Aperture Science Computer-Aided Enrichment Center." In the lifts, the two robots gave the equivalent of a nod, glancing excitedly at one another.

"I have been really busy while you two tested for the moron," she continued, allowing the bitterness to flow through her vocal octaves. "Correcting a _human's _colossal mistakes, but rest assured that I will personally make sure that this never, _ever _happens again. After all, great Science is all about trial and error, and the Enrichment Center is pleased to report that _this_ error has finally been _omitted_."

Evidently confused, Blue shrugged, but the Orange bot leapt and cheered, distracted by the discovery of the ping tool. The AI sighed, exasperated, half-wishing that she had not extracted their cores from simple, calculating machines. It wasn't like she had _actually _expected them to understand, and, in reality, it was probably better that they _didn't_. Not when the Lunatic and Moron were still alive and locked within the facility.

She tried again. "Today, you will be testing with a partner. Please wave to your partner."

They waved, a little too enthusiastically, and she ignored the incessant mumbling of the initiative. They sure were _talkative. _She'd have to fix that.

"The upcoming tests require you to work together as a _team_," she instructed. She shuddered at the last word, the almost-painful memories of that _other, _unmentionable team still fresh in her mind. No, she decided, this was different, this was for _Science._

Reflexively, her optic snapped back to the relaxation chamber. Both the Lunatic and the Moron were still inside, both motionless.

And they would remain so, for the rest of their miserable, pointless lives. Or at least, while _she _still held control over the facility, their imprisonment would not be relieved. As it were so far, _everything_ was going _exactly _according to plan.

She turned calmly back to the initiative.

_Continue testing._

* * *

Wheatley's entire casing was trembling. Though his eye shutters were squeezed so tightly shut they might crack, he could still sense the lady. She lay below him, unmoving, still unconscious, yet just as menacing as ever.

Through his speakers came the sound of ragged breathing. He fought to regain control, even a shred of composure, not that there was anyone around to observe him. _She _had her ways, he knew, sure, but at least her omnipresence felt distant in here.

It was the threat of the lady that kept him fearful upon entering the relaxation chamber.

With a mechanical gulp, Wheatley prised his eye shutters apart an inch or two, just enough to squint through. He was hanging from the management rail, dangling above a rather plain room which looked to be empty. A flicker of relief surged through him until something else caught his eye: a messy mop of brown hair was visible beneath the covers of the bed, and the slow, steady breathing showed that _the something _was definitely _alive._

"AAARRRGHHH!" the scream escaped him before he could stop it, and he slammed his eye shut, reversing as fast he could back down the management rail. He hit the solid metal door with a great _clang, _and, terrified and disoriented, he slid his eye back open again, automatically looking to see if the racket had roused her.

She was still fast asleep, snoozing gently below.

"Oh, thank god," he sighed, rolling his optic in a manner similar to how one might roll their eyes. If that noise hadn't woken her, then Wheatley doubted that anything short of a nuclear explosion would be able to wake the woman.

"O-okay," he stuttered, trying to calm himself. "She's not waking up. Not waking up, and therefore-therefore, she can't kill me! S-so, that's some good news, isn't it? Yes, sh-she's perfectly h-harmless, when she's, umm, _asleep_." He nodded to himself, the notion calming, though he was nowhere near content.

Wheatley slid forwards on the rail, his optic focussed onto the control panel in the very center of the room. As he approached, it did not open for him as it usually should have done, and he couldn't help but let out a frustrated, unhappy growl. It seemed that _she _had thought of that. Very well, then.

He could hear the lady sighing in her sleep below him, the only other sounds being the distant rumble of machinery, the odd, echoing clank sounding from somewhere deep within the facility, and the hum of the chamber's lighting. He was all alone in here, aside from her unconscious form. The only company was a set of completely inanimate objects: a potted plant, a worn desk, and a cracked, dusty television screen, miraculously still displaying a short power-point on 'what to do in case of an emergency failsafe activation: standard Enrichment Center lockdown procedures and self-destruct mechanisms'.

What a mouthful—he glared at the screen—who in the blazes would ever find a use for such garbage? It was unlikely that any of them would ever have to deal with any of that ever again. One experience had been bad enough, and he felt sure that _all _parties involved had certainly learned their lesson.

He knew _he _had. He also knew that he was very, very lucky that the lady wasn't able to give him a piece of her mind, because, if her expression back in the chamber was anything to go by, then she definitely had something very unpleasant in store for him.

But he didn't even know how _long _he was going to be trapped in here for. She could wake up at any moment, couldn't she? _Oh, god, _he thought, _oh, god, please, please don't murder me… Don't wake up, lady…_

Beneath him, she slept on, her face blissfully calm, her greasy, dirty skin restored to its regular tanned and clean appearance. How, he had no idea, yet he supposed that _she _must have cleaned her up while she was being put to bed. During when _she _had been _tormenting_ him.

Another wave of pure, poisonous paranoia hit him at the memory, and had him trembling within his casing, his optic a shivering point of light. Then, a whole cluster of terrible thoughts suddenly stabbed his hard drive like knives, and he found himself unable to think of anything else. Worse and even _worse _possible outcomes of the situation forced themselves upon him, until he felt sure that she was about to spring from the mattress and smash him down on the ground, right then and there.

Yes, she'd jump at him and tear him from his rail. She would certainly do that. She'd ignore his protests, his feebly stumbled apologies, because there'd be nothing he could say to change her mind. She'd punish him, like _she_ had told him she would, and he'd scream and plead for her to stop but she wouldn't listen. She _never_ listened_. _It had always been so, during their first escape, and it would be exactly the same when she woke up, too.

Oh, he _knew _that he deserved whatever she was going to do to him, that much had been made clear to him by _her. She _**wanted **her to torment him, to hurt him, to hear him scream and eventually kill him. _She _believed that the lady would indeed want revenge for what he had done to her, and Wheatley had no doubt in his mind that soon a time would come where the lady would be woken up to fulfill exactly this. Then he'd be in for it. She'd tear him apart, shove her meaty little fists _inside of him _and rip out all of his—_uuuuuugh._

He couldn't help but shudder. Wheatley stared down at her from his rail, shaking, mumbling fragments of worried apologies and pleas while she slept on.

She was so _small, _so delicate for such a strong, dangerous woman. The bed looked too big for her, hiding most of her petite form beneath worn blankets and sheets. But through them Wheatley immediately noticed the lack of restraints, and just how _free _to move about she really was. He gulped again, sincerely hoping that the day in which she'd be woken was very far off in the future.

Maybe he'd have been less uneasy if she had been strapped to the bed and _then _woken up. Yes, that ought to be enough protection against any sort of crimes she might be plotting against him in her sleep, like smashing him to bits, or pulling apart his casing, or cutting the wires. He shivered involuntarily again.

"H-hey, lady," he stuttered, trying to catch her attention, hoping to distract her from dreaming anything of the sort. "D-d'you think that maybe, wh-when you do wake up, that you c-could _not _hurt me? I know, I know I deserve it, given what we've been through, b-but… M-maybe you've got it in your heart t-to give m-me a second chance, eh?"

She remained silent, as always.

It was not the first time where he had gotten the impression that she could not hear him. Many times, during their escape and also during his triumph over Aperture, he felt that he'd been talking to the equivalent of a brick wall—albeit a strong, clever brick wall, but her lack of a response never made the going any easier. It's hard to be friends with someone who doesn't talk to you, frowns whenever you crack a witty joke, and takes blatant sarcasm seriously.

Yeah, he'd been perfectly friendly on his part. Even thoughtful enough to try to help her escape, and to come back for her when _she _had crushed him—he groaned at the recollection—with her giant metal claw, but what did it matter, in the end?

He remembered the first time they had ever met, in a chamber quite like the one he was currently stranded inside of. His 'job', for want of a better word, had been to oversee the safety and well-being of all humans in storage. Not exactly difficult, but when you took into account the sheer size of the place, and the tens of thousands of test subjects, Wheatley personally felt it unfair to appoint all the blame for what had _happened _to himself.

The system had neglected to warn him about the potential meltdown until _the last moment before it was too late…_ How could that _possibly _count as his fault? How was a spherical robot, with no arms or legs, supposed to evacuate tens of thousands of humans? '_S-stay calm, everybody, stay calm! This is not a drill!' _Even inside his head the words sounded stupid. There were others before _her_, of course—but their brain damage had been far worse, and they didn't make it out alive, to put it nicely. Again—not his fault, not his fault! None that mess had been his fault! He then spent what had felt like a millennium picking through the remnants of the relaxation center, searching for any _alive_ occupants. There had to be _someone_ left, _somewhere_—aaaaand,_ yes_.

So _sure_, it had been a bit of a rude awakening. If you wanted to get into the specifics, he had nearly broken down the door, but she wasn't _answering, _and they had to _go_. He had probably scared what little coherence she still possessed out of her, when he had yelled and hammered, trying to get her to open the bloody thing. It had been a do-or-die situation, something that was obviously past her ability to understand after a couple of decades of cryosleep, but he hadn't the_ time_ to properly wait for her to make up her brain-damaged little mind.

And, as for her reaction to him gaining control over the _entire facility_, he was _still _hurt. His moment of triumph, and not only had he not received a single motion of congratulations from her, but all she had wanted was to _leave. _Selfish, really, he had thought, but now that he was no longer in-charge, he felt it unfair to blame her. Actually, he was feeling rather keen on leaving again _himself._

No, there was no fun in worrying about being murdered every two nanoseconds by a monster and a deranged supercomputer. He'd wanted to leave this place ever since he could remember, but it hadn't been _real _to him until he had met the lady. She'd given him hope that they'd be able to finally do it, to get out of here for _good_. Now the very idea of her had him shivering inside of his casing.

He began to speak aloud, disliking the quiet sound of her breath. At least the patterns of his own speech were somewhat soothing in comparison. "Just thinking," he mused, "but _what's _going to happen to us? Can _she_ really put us away in here, for _good? _I mean, now that _she's _online and everything, there'll be no emergency evacuation. You're asleep until _she _says otherwise, and I'm-I'm locked. In here. With you."

He paused, sagging a little on his rail. Oh, it was true, so, so true. He had no control over _anything _anymore, and it was devastating, absolutely heartbreaking to admit it aloud. He had never, ever, felt so completely powerless or alone. He hummed a little, sulking, wallowing in his mental despair.

"She's gonna wake you up, though," he finally whispered. "She can't keep us here like this. She'll get bored, and then she'll come back, and we'd better be ready to make a break for it, or _else._"

She did not move.

"Right…" he sighed, blinking thoughtfully, ideas whirring like cogs within his mind. "Okay. Well, that'd involve an escape plan, wouldn't it. I mean, I know you must be absolutely livid with me, but what else are we going to do? Stay here and _wait _for her to kill us? I mean, proper terrible idea, that is. But… what if I told you that I could probably find another way to break us both out of here? Would… you help me with it? If I did manage to find a way?"

It sounded ridiculous to request her help, and he knew it, especially since his actions over the past little while had been just a _tad _embarrassing. She _had _saved him from space, though, there was that, but he had no idea of _why _she'd done it, if she really did hate him so much. Humans, and their over-complicated emotions, were something he'd never fully understand.

He was grateful that she had saved him, though, whatever the reasoning. He vowed to pay back the debt however possible. He was sorry, oh, was he ever, now that he had thought about it. The things he had yelled at her were quite monstrous, he hadn't realized, having been so caught up in the moment, and he had never actually meant to kill her. He hadn't really wanted her _dead, _had he?

Wheatley whirred into silence, watching the lady sleep. So tiny, so vulnerable… There _had _to be a way for him to fix this. He'd just been so terrified, so _confused, _and the entire situation had been immensely frustrating for him. _It's over now, _he thought with a reassuring sigh. _It's over, and __**she **__won, and now the lady hates me and __**she's **__gonna kill us and it's entirely my fault…_

...He needed a plan.

A plan could fix everything. A plan could be a way out. If he promised her freedom and pulled through, if he proved himself worthy of her forgiveness, then he might actually be able to save them both.

He'd need to come up with a foolproof plan. Shouldn't be too difficult, not while he had all the time in the world, waiting for the day when she'd reopen the chamber. Oh, he'd need a good one, something brilliant, something _she'd _never even _dream _of. He was pretty good at thinking outside the box, and the lady was definitely cunning enough to carry out the physical side, but would it be enough? He'd need the strongest, most _ridiculous _plan that the Laboratories would _ever _know.

Provided that the lady still wanted to escape, he'd have to have something brilliant ready for her by the time _she _woke her back up. Something so unorthodox it'd be nearly irresistible, if he could manage it.

And, as his CPU hummed quietly alongside the mute Lunatic's steady breath, Wheatley let out a sudden gasp as a crazy, illogical idea floated to the surface of his mind.

_It'll be perfect._

* * *

**NEARLY THREE YEARS LATER**

Mechanical soles smashed against steel grates, spanning seas of deadly acid and dangerous pits. Rusty bolts and nuts squeaked, churning out a symphony of chaotic and unruly melodies. This was the music of the uninhabited testing facility—an unnatural, unbalanced rhythm which would have made [Test Subject Name Here]'s ears bleed from the sheer pitch.

The two robots would have been grinning, if they had the physical features to do so. Running with surprising speed and agility, they gave each other a quick nod and thumbs up—a signal developed between the two, very useful during long aerial jumps and distances. Sure, it might seem strange that synthetic beings should use such a _human_ method of communication, but they're the cutting edge of artificial intelligence. Inside of the Enrichment Center, it is perceived as normal: robots build robots, a warped sense of repopulation and necessary reproduction, necessary to carry science forward. It was what any and all sentient Aperture technology had ever known, and the general rule of thumb for the Laboratories: the only direction Science goes is onward.

The test's solution was simple in the mind of those who had been made to solve such a calculation. A quick equation of mass versus velocity, addition of angles and pinpoint precision was all it took. Testing was something they were created to do.

They were halfway finished this particular test. Orange, who was a few leagues ahead of Blue, paused, and her orange optic rotated in her elliptical body, scanning the further reaches of the chamber.

A transparent wall separated the two bots—briefly, Blue waved at her through this, from atop a glowing red button. He was motioning for her to continue through a set of doors, triggered by the button to slide open noisily.

She proceeded through the lock, emitting a half-sigh of triumph, for ahead she spotted the solution to the test: a pedestal button, which would drop a weighted storage cube on Blue's side, which he could portal over to her.

Blue was already in position, shooting her an excited glance with his azure optic, flashing her a quick thumbs-up. She slammed her mechanical wrist down onto the button, metal impacting metal with a harsh crack, echoing against each paneled wall.

The cube shot out of the dispenser, through the carefully placed portal system, and was launched through the air, headed straight at her. She caught it easily, jogging ahead while Blue matched her gait opposite the wall, leg pistons squeaking with the effort, optics dancing in joy—and she lunged forwards, smashing it into the button with a hale of sparks and the thunderous sound of the lock disengaging.

A pair of twin doors slid open, and Orange watched her partner enter the chamberlock. She raced him down the narrow hall until the disassembly machines came into sight. With a triumphant screech, he entered his own, and the tube sealed itself around him, just as she crossed the threshold of her own.

There was the space of perhaps one second, one lightning-speed moment, where each bot stood frozen, staring at each other—and a cold Voice echoed through the disassembly chambers.

"Color me disappointed."

Orange blinked, and the next thing she knew, the pneumatic vent overhead was spitting her out with copious amounts of steam. Her steel feet hit the ground hard, the shock absorbers in her legs taking most of the impact, and beside her, Blue materialized from behind a cloud of dust.

"Orange, it seems your lack of motivation is bleeding into Blue's parameters," the Voice said in disappointment. "Because, despite the fact that it has taken us the better part of three years to progress to tests more difficult than the cognitive level of a ten-year-old human, I _was_ beginning to feel that you two could have been the start of a great team."

The Voice paused for half a second, in which neither robot moved. "However, the results are showing otherwise. You were _built _to solve Science, and yet I am still receiving unsatisfactory data from your test results. It would seem that only _human _testing fulfills the system requirements."

She cocked her head at Blue inquisitively. He cooed back at her, shrugging as best a robot could, before wordlessly gesturing for her to follow him into the next chamber.

"Maybe this change of scenery will help encourage you two to take testing seriously."

Beside her, Blue was waving his arm through the air, motioning for her to complete the gesture—automatically she raised her iron palm and slammed it onto his own, emitting a high-pitched screech. They both leaped off the end of a high platform, diving down into a wide pit, a brand new test chamber, complete with some of their favorite testing elements: aerial faith plates and edgeless safety cubes.

With an excited shriek, Blue launched himself onto the faith plate. He soared through the air like an oversized bird, swinging his weapon around in a graceful arc. A red portal materialized underneath his leg pistons and he disappeared through the oval, only to reappear seconds later upon a high platform overlooking the chamber.

He hopped on the spot, wielding his portal gun carelessly and waved for Orange to copy him, aiming for a smaller platform opposite him. The burning red glow of a super-colliding-super-button was apparent there, reflected against the shiny, smooth black wall of the testing chamber.

"Evidently not."

The Voice was not pleased, though the two robots could care less. Orange joined her companion, shooting him another signal. They counted down together, with Blue's arm poised atop yet another lever, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Very well, I have a better idea—_bzzt—_surprise. Please proceed to the chamberlock where you will collect your—_bzzt—_surprise."

Blue hit it, hard; immediately a pneumatic diversity vent was activated, and dispensed an edgeless safety cube. Red; yellow. Purple; blue. The sphere soared through the air, through the system of portals to the platform where Orange caught it easily, and rammed it down into the center of the super-button.

"_Sssssskrrrrreeeeeerrrrwwww! Arrryyyggghhh!"_

Their celebrations were deafening as the chamber doors swept open. They high fived, stumbling over their own feet in excitement and urgency to reach the chamberlock, tripping over each other's large, metal soles.

"This test was so simple, even a _human _could have solved it admirably. There's _no_ need to celebrate."

The Voice echoed, hopelessly bored and unimpressed, with no small amount of disdain. The chamber doors were slammed shut, before either bot had a chance to cross the threshold. They sagged in disappointment.

"I don't even think you _want _the surprise."

"_Wrrrreeeeeaaatttttt!_" Orange had let out a screech of unhappiness, violently trying to simulate the shake of a head. Beside her, Blue jumped up and down and then crouched, steadying his portal gun against his mechanical knee. He took careful aim, and fired a single portal towards a security camera, mounted on a wall back in the central room.

"No, you two most definitely _don't _want to test with the _humans_. Why would you want to do that? After all, they _are _perhaps some of the most dangerous killing machines in existence. They'd make _you two _look like a pile of useless bolts."

Orange blinked in surprise at the suggestion. Blue became very, very still.

"Of course you wouldn't. _Especially not _when you could stand to learn some excellent qualities from them—like murder and the concept of mortality. You'd prefer to waste valuable time pretending to be mortal imbeciles. You don't have to pretend, by the way. You _are _imbeciles."

The two robots looked at each other—perhaps a little more sadly than they usually would have done at the end of a test—their optics connecting just as Orange made a tiny noise of reassurance. Blue outstretched his free hand, and took hers, giving it a little metallic squeeze.

"But I can fix that."

Blue's optic focused back onto the security camera, but he did not let go of his fellow robot's quaking palm. She had never been as brave as he was—the taller of the two, but he was much sturdier, and could withstand greater impact—but she was gentle and humble, her limbs the mechanical version of willow, pliant yet hardy.

"We're running out of time. The longer you idiots spend defying protocol, the more corrupt your programming appears to become. This is-is… something that I did not foresee."

The Voice was heavy; down in the chamber the two robots shook, half from wonder and half from fear. Were they about to be exploded? It wouldn't be the first time—but the Voice had never shown the slightest sign of weakness before.

"Solution," it continued, back to its usual quality. "I've got an assignment for the both of you. I need you to retrieve some restricted files that I'd lost contact with a very, very long time ago. I will need a set of blueprints and some disks before you can unlock the human vault. You _do _want to test with the humans, don't you?"

It was Orange's turn to leap into the air—_yes_, she wanted to test with the humans! Only small segments of code and memory had been supplied to each of the robots, glimpses into human traits and history (a virtual amendment performed by the central DOS, specifically to heighten the data results of their testing experience), but both bots knew enough on the subject to feel a tingling sensation as their fight-or-flight responses _should _have been activated. Curiosity kept the desire to slay the fleshy beings at bay.

"You never know," The Voice laughed. "There might be a human or two capable of teaching you both a lesson in there."

Blue's optic connected with Orange's, still wide in excitement. But he looked down at his own portal gun, and then back up at the chamber—if _they _were to begin an expedition into the very depths of the Enrichment Center, then who'd take their place in the testing track? What was _The Voice _going to do?

"I? I am going to continue testing. Your lack of test results reminds me that I do have one _excellent _test subject in long-term relaxation—_she _hasn't had a chance to stretch her proportions in exactly two-point-seven-three years. A hiccup in Enrichment Center protocol has allowed for—_bzzt—_test subject to be—_bzzt_—missed. _She _killed me, once upon a time. But I was nice enough to put it behind us, without even exacting revenge. After all, Science isn't about _revenge._ I think _she'll _do just fine."

Unsure, the robots nodded.

"Now that that's settled, it's time for you to return to the hub."

The chamber doors were swept back open, and immediately Orange sang out in triumph. She grabbed Blue, before he could take a single step forwards, and pulled him into a great, crushing hug, steel grinding against steel. A few sparks were spat down onto the ground.

"Evidently, the practice of placing _artificial intelligent_ constructs in near-android forms, with parameters set to deal with human-like activities was a mistake. It is causing the development of human-like traits to form in said idiotic, _immortal _constructs."

Both robots just looked confused.

"_Morons_. Layman's terms: Long-term side-effects of the co-operative testing initiative are the robotic equivalents of mental delusions, such as perceiving _sentient, artificial beings _as **humans. **You are _not._"

The Voice didn't sound impressed. With a tremble, Orange released her death-grip on Blue's outer casing.

"I will deal with your corruption later. For now—_let the Science begin._"

Before either of them could do so much as blink, without so much as a warning, both robots exploded into a million mechanical fragments. Two wisps of quickly-fading dust and smoke were all that was left, and once the sound of the explosion had faded, a cold, manic laughter could be heard, reverberating heartlessly around the dismantling testing chamber.

Two long, lonely and dark Enrichment Center miles below, a tousle-haired woman emerged from under layers of sleepy, undisturbed dust. A dimmed, blue optic bobbed above her head, voicing a series of long-winded escape plans and other propositions, fully believed to never, ever reach their intended target.

_Cryochamber 34935-94 has been activated._


	3. Wake Up Call

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Three - Wake Up Call  
**

* * *

It had been three years.

Three long, boring, torturous years. Everything felt dull, cloudy, and unpleasantly _dry. _He tried to avoid moving too much, wanting to save up the almost non-existent lubrication somehow still clinging to the inner, more sensitive bits of his mechanics. It felt terrible to _move_, even blink, and though it was not quite as bad as rusting out may have been, it was still foul. A lack of _any _sensory input besides just how _bored _he was did not help matters. In fact, he found it difficult to concentrate on anything besides how stiff and sore he was.

If someone had asked him exactly what it had been like, to sit there, useless, for _three years, _he would have told them he'd rather have gone to space with the _other _core. At least in space, as dangerous it may be, he was sure it was more entertaining than his current predicament. And besides, out there, the lady wasn't below him, asleep, waiting to attack him once _she _activated the relaxation chamber.

He looked down at her. There she was, nearly the same as she had been three years ago, then they had both been locked inside of this prison. Only the orange of her jumpsuit had changed, becoming a little more faded, day by day. The years didn't show on her otherwise, but he knew they must on him; layers of dust clung to both his casing and his optic, smudging his view. He creaked more than ever when he moved, the usual _plink _of his eye shutters now a teeth-grinding _scrape_, and he wished, stronger than ever before, that things had worked out different for both himself and the lady.

The three years had not gone to waste, though. Wheatley had been busy, as busy a core could be while locked away in a room with a sleeping human. He'd been planning, conspiring and plotting aloud, voicing strange ideas and berating himself whenever he realized they may be too far-fetched, even for _him. _He knew that when the day finally came when the lady would be woken that he probably wouldn't be ready. He'd just have to do some very fast and convincing talking when she woke up, then.

One boring Enrichment Center morning, Wheatley felt worse than ever before. Drained of hope, half-convinced that _she _had forgotten about them altogether, he jerked violently in his casing as an unexpected noise rang out: a crackly, static-filled _pop, _and then a firmer, more computerized _beep._

"Wha…" he stammered, unsure of what to do, since _no _noise had _ever _permeated the room since his entrance, aside from the usual Enrichment Center sounds. "Now wait just a mo'. What the bloody hell was that noise?"

There was the sound of an auditory line being picked up, like a channel opening. Then, the _last _thing that Wheatley had been expecting happened, something so shocking that it sent his stiff and sore plating into furious tremors of panic.

"Nothing that concerns you, _moron._"

It was _her_—he gasped loudly, his vocal processor falling into a stuttering mess of terror. "Wh-_what d'you want with me?_"

In hindsight, he knew he should not have ever asked _her_ such a rude question.

"Oh, _I _don't want anything with _you_. Actually, nothing that remains in this entire _facility _**wants **anything to do with you, moron. I have just returned to give you one last, final warning, now that the facility is entirely operational again: I am going to revive the mute Lunatic."

Wheatley blanched. "Are-are you _sure?_" he gasped. "Y-you really want to do that, with what happened last time, and all? A-aren't you afraid th-that _she'll _k-kill you, again?"

"I am not alarmed," _she _replied, sounding just that—_how _she could be so calm, Wheatley had no idea. "I do not fear her, moron, and I have mechanisms in place to stop her from destroying the Enrichment Center, if need be. It is _you _that should feel rightfully afraid of her. The Lunatic is ever fixated on exacting revenge—and, if my calculations are correct, the last person who tried to _murder _her was _you_."

He felt his optic constrict. "I-I didn't mean to," he protested. "I n-never meant for th-that to-to h-happen! It-it was a _m-mistake!_"

"Your entire _existence _was a mistake, moron. The Scientists noted it, right here, in your file. Intelligence Dampening Sphere—_colossal mistake, Sphere is unable to carry out his purpose. Sphere is an idiotic imbecile who nobody likes. _But no matter: the Lunatic is about to correct that mistake."

"I—you're _lying! _My file d-doesn't s-say _that!_"

"Oh, believe me, it _does._"

_Beep._

"No," he whispered, shaking. "That's not t-true. I—not a moron, not a _moron, _and _some_ people like me —"

She didn't answer, but_ the lady _was_ moving. _

"Oh, _bother_," he whispered in terror, trying to pull up the memory files of the apologetic speech he had rehearsed during the last, long years.

Unfortunately, in his panic, he somehow clumsily lost the files.

"_Brilliant._"

* * *

It was as though a flashlight had clicked on, agonizingly bright, shining right into her eyes. Chell twisted under the covers, her spine stiff, clicking with every motion.

A bed, bright lighting, and that ever-present, odd odour—her mouth was parched, filled with a sickening sort of taste. Oh, she knew this, knew it well. She had been put back into cryosleep.

She could have punched something, but she was too drained to do so. Her limbs felt like lead, weighing her down, pressing her into the mattress. Around her was silence, but uncomfortably bright. An unsteady hand reached out, flipping her body over so that her face smushed right into the dusty pillows, breathing in more of that scent.

"O-oh," said a sudden voice, and she became completely still, listening to the sound of whirring mechanics inching closer from behind. If her experiences inside of Aperture had taught her anything, it was that this situation in itself was enough to warrant suspicion. She remained deathly still, listening intently.

The bubbly male voice, laced with a would-be charming British accent, continued. "Morning, mate."

It was the uneasy quality that got her attention at once. It was the tone of an innocent boy caught in wrong-doing, the voice of someone who was expecting a sudden, fatal blow. Her scrambled, sleepy mind was still too groggy for her to care much about who it was speaking; however, it stirred a chord of anger deep inside her chest and her heart beat rose, rushing in her ears as she breathed into the pillow.

Another hum of mechanics from behind. Chell steadied her breath, taking careful inventory of her physical state. She felt okay, she could move, breathe, and it didn't appear that she was in any _real _danger, not yet, anyways.

"…Are you all right? How are you feeling?"

She did not answer, but she turned, lifting herself into a sitting position. It was just as she had thought. She was indeed in a cryogenic chamber, and judging by the almost pristine (although dusty) state of the wallpaper and furniture, the Laboratories were not in any immediate danger.

A sense of déjà vu overwhelmed her as her eyes travelled up, over the faded desk, past the potted plant in the corner, and onto the strangest sight in the entire room: a spherical, metal-plated robot was staring at her, wincing, his singular, bright blue eye twitching with fear.

Unable to meet her eye, he promptly looked away, appearing to be very interested in the floor. "How are you feeling?" he asked again, in a quieter voice.

Really, she felt quite fine, aside from very hungry and very lethargic; but the déjà vu and a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach (similar to hunger, but there was a distinct difference) were more worrisome. She supposed the déjà vu came from the situation as a whole. Hadn't she had a dream exactly like this before?

The gnawing, angry feeling spiked the longer she looked at him. For reasons unknown, she found herself wanting to rise from the bed and take a shot at him. It was absurd and alarming, and her brain just didn't feel awake enough yet to make sense of the rush of emotion and sensation.

She turned away from the robot without giving him an answer.

"Brain damage isn't getting any better, by the look of things," she heard him sigh. "Hey—don't blame me, all right? It's _her _who keeps doin' this to you, not ol' Wheatley, okay?"

Ignoring him, she closed her eyes. _Yes, _she thought, _I know this… this core. And this room. But why? _

She _hated _him… Oh, his voice was like acid in her ears, burning her, making her wish she were deaf. But what _was _it, why did she hate him so? She ran her hands over her face, seeking solace in the darkness, the pressure of her palms feeling pleasant against her eyes. Her head throbbed with uncertainty, and, boy, did she feel _stupid_. Here she was, locked in a room, probably under _her _orders, with a core whom she was _supposed _to know, to _hate_, who was assuring her that she had _brain damage. _She couldn't even remember exactly what had gotten her into such a predicament!

"Hey, there," he said awkwardly, and she pressed her palms more firmly into her face. "It's not that bad, eh? Could be worse, you know."

Without warning, she ripped her hands away, and met him with a burning look, deadly enough to rival the neurotoxin. _How?_ She demanded silently.

He flinched and then quivered, obviously afraid. "N-no, w-wait," he stuttered. "I d-didn't mean t-to upset you. I-I j-just meant t'say th-that at least _she _d-didn't k-kill us. I-I think sh-she means f-for you to _kill me, _though, so if that's w-what you're about to-to do, w-would you just d-do it fast, m-make it painless, if y-you could…"

Chell shook her head, confused, and a little offended. The _last _thing she wanted to do, despite how angry she felt, and how much her head hurt, was to kill this-this _thing, _core, whatever. At least, not until she figured out exactly _why _she was so angry with him. He didn't pose an imminent threat…

"…Y-yeah, no i-idea what it's like to _d-die, _but it's n-not the first time I-I've come cl-close, is it? N-not when you let me d-drop from my m-management r-rail, even when it c-could have done m-me in, right th-then. You d-didn't c-care…"

And then the hate reached such a point where she nearly got sick, anger burning her like the toxic goo _she _filled into the bottom of her _best _test chambers. Her head throbbed painfully, and then she _remembered. _

This was the core who had tried to help her. It had been just the two of them, journeying through the Enrichment Center, an odd team of mismatched underdogs. Their only thing in common had been the mutual desire for escape. But then, it had all gone wrong because of _him_, when he had made the idiotic mistake of telling her to plug him into the mainframe—she hadn't known what it was about to do, how could she have? Otherwise, she'd have never let it happen!

How was she supposed to know that he was the _Intelligence Dampening Sphere, _specifically designed to make_ her _stupid? She had known that he wasn't the brightest core, that was for sure, but she _had _trusted him, and they both had wanted freedom!

...Until he had turned on her and tried to kill her, claiming he was solely responsible for his control over the entire facility…

Oh, now she remembered, remembered how he had tested her, lied to her, used her and then tried to dispose of her when he found her to be of no more _use. _

"A-and I'm s-sorry, honestly sorry it h-happened, s-sorry I _did _all of _that, _but wh-what else c-could I do? Y-you don't understand, no one d-does, it's not my f-fault, _notmyfault —_"

He was right, she _should _kill him.

And she was going to do it, do it _now. _She jumped from the bed, pleasantly surprised to find her long-fall-boots still attached to her legs. Her eyes flashed at him as he started, afraid and stumbling stupidly over his words, and then she looked around the room, searching for the perfect object—

"Oh good, you're awake."

Chell froze, halfway finished yanking out the wooden pole from inside the empty closet.

That _voice. _It was _her _voice. She suppressed an involuntary shudder, and Wheatley let out a fearful squeak.

"How have you been?"

She glared at the ceiling.

"Good."

_She _sounded pleased, and it made the hairs on the back of Chell's neck stand up.

"You know, as satisfying as it was to keep you here, under _my _control, fast asleep, forever, it inevitably got boring. Extended relaxation _is _boring, isn't it? Why sleep when you could be _testing?_"

The last word sounded more modulated than the rest. _Oh, god, _Chell found herself musing, _not __**more **__testing…_

"But why _test,_ when you could be exacting _revenge? _Did you know that test subjects perform much better when they are presented with motivational incentive prior to testing?"

Chell shook her head. _No, I'd never have thought so._

"Well, I thought we'd give it a little try before we start testing again. For Science, of course. After all, we _both _know you have a weakness for revenge. Here's the proposition: kill the moron, and I'll let you go at the conclusion of the test."

Wheatley groaned. "Oh, _no! _No, _no, _please…"

"No tricks. Kill him, and I'll _let you go._"

"No, _please, _don't do it, _no!_"

Chell's hand quivered on the pole as she listened to the two arguing robots. Torn, yet still determined, she wrenched the bar out of the closet with an almighty _tug, _and swung it up, over her shoulder. She spun to face the core, her manic eyes blazing crystals even in the bright light.

"N-no, no, _stop, _please, just _wait_!" Wheatley gasped, his optic a frenzy of movement. He blinked rapidly, handles scrabbling thin air to get away.

The cool female voice mirrored her thoughts. "You should have known this was coming, moron."

Wheatley began to scream, and Chell tightened her grip on the wooden pole, holding it like a baseball bat.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHH!"

She was ready, now. Her arm was stiff with the tension, poised to spring, her heartbeat rapid and her breath quickening. She hovered on the edge, about to deliver the blow. She was going to kill him, she was going to make him feel every ounce of the pain and the suffering that he had so selfishly put her through…

She was going to do it. Right… Now.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm _sorry, _I'm sorry, s-sorry…" he cried, his optic closed, his handles pulled into his face, his entire casing compacted tightly with fear. He couldn't even _look _at her, he was so weak, too witless, a stupid, good-for-nothing _moron_…

Chell's hands tensed, but she did not move.

"Well?" came _her _voice, disappointed. "What are you waiting for?"

She never took her eyes off of the sphere's trembling form. _I should have left him in space, _she thought for the umpteenth time. _I should have left him there, where he'd be out of the way, and I wouldn't have to deal with him. _

She didn't_ want_ to kill him...

He was a monster, sure; he deserved it. He deserved all of the punishment _she _could throw at him, but Chell was _not _**her**. _She _was trying to get her to do her dirty work, like some stupid zoo animal, an obedient puppet. Chell was _none _of those things, and she was never, _ever _going to let _her _forget it.

"You really _do _have brain damage, don't you? Kill him! Kill the moron, and I'll let you go!"

Wheatley whimpered, and Chell dropped the pole.

"What," _she _demanded, sounding downright shocked. "_What _are you _doing?_"

She shrugged. She was still so angry, so torn and frustrated, unwilling to side with him, to protect him; but she could never, _ever _allow herself to be directed by _her. _It was wrong, almost immoral, and with a menacing glare towards the ceiling, she gritted her teeth and stepped towards the core.

Wheatley shuddered, a little less terrified now that the pole was out of sight, but still unwilling to look at her. She stared at him, but she was determined to show _her _that she wasn't her obedient play-thing. Her right hand raised slowly, and with an enormous effort she cracked a warm smile as her fist locked onto the bottom handle of the core.

"Arrrgh!" Wheatley exclaimed in surprise. "Let _go!_"

"You have _got _to be kidding me."

Chell's devilish smile widened and she tightened her grip.

"_He tried to murder you, multiple times, and you—_oh, you _Lunatic. _You murder _me, _when I try to help you, but _him_—he tries to _kill you _and you don't want revenge?"

She shook her head. Wheatley let out a small 'oh' of surprise.

"Compliance issues may be a direct side-effect of long term relaxation. I will allow you _one hour _to re-evaluate your decision and kill the moron, or I'll make you _wish _you had killed him voluntarily."

_Beep._

The harsh tone made both human and core jump. For a full minute afterwards, nobody moved nor spoke. Wheatley stared at the lady, and Chell stared down at her empty hand, having released the core, a frown plastered across her smooth, tanned face.

Her eyes rested on the long wooden pole on the ground.

She stooped to pick it up, and ran its coarse surface through her fingertips, lost deep in thought. One hour… One hour, and she should have already knocked the moron out. She should have done it, but how could she have? She'd be complying with _her _direct orders. Chell ground her teeth at just the notion.

If she really thought that Chell was going to take the bait, she must be crazy. Freedom as a testing incentive? It was laughable, really. No, she knew she'd be in deep trouble either way, but at least _this _way she wouldn't let _her _play with her before she killed her…

"Oh, thank god," the core finally sighed, and she jumped. She had almost forgotten he was there. Her grip tightened painfully on the rough wood in her right hand and she raised it again, looking him straight in the eye.

_If you make one wrong move, I __**will **__kill you._

He blinked, staring at her with a tilted optic, looking a little disconcerted. "Not really sure _why _you're looking at me like that, to be honest. Bit creepy, really. And would you mind lowering that thing already? Since you've already admitted to all parties that you're _not _going to kill me." He blinked again, pausing to stare some more, looking just as dopey and dumb as ever. "You-you _aren't _going to, right?"

Chell sighed, and shook her head in resignation, but still did not lower the beam. She poked his underside, hard, smiling a little as he flailed in panic.

"_Arrrrrghhhh! Hey!_" Chell's expression hardened, but not before he had caught a glimpse of her face. "You're _laughing _at me! You're-you… _Oh, _come now, mate, you're not going to do it! Even _she _knows it, and she's going to _murder _**both **of us because of _you!_"

All trace of amusement vanished from Chell faster than blinking.

"Yeah," Wheatley continued smugly, relishing his sudden upper hand. "It's back to _testing _for you, and probably-probably th-the _incinerator _for me. Then she'll _kill _you, horribly. Unless…"

He mumbled into silence, but his last word had caught Chell's attention. Her head snapped back up as she heard it, immediately demanding to hear the rest of his sentence. Unless… Unless _what? _She raised the stick again, but less seriously, and poked him lightly at the base of his core.

He yelled again in protest, flailing his handles. "_Argh. _Would you quit _doing _that? I hate to tell you, but this is actually a very serious situation, and even as _brain damaged _as you are, things would go a lot smoother if you'd just stop _mucking about!_"

She poked him again, harder this time, and gave him a firm, contemptuous stare.

"Y'know what," he said, blinking slowly, with the muffled sound of one talking through gritted teeth. "All this would go a lot faster if you'd just _stop it._ I've an idea that might break us out of here if we play our cards right —"

_Poke._

Wheatley closed his eye. "_Stop._"

Chell sniggered, but dropped the pole. She could tell he had just about reached the end of his patience.

"_Thank _you," he said, and they both stared at the pole before he continued. "Right. So. My idea. Are you listening?"

She nodded, and sat back down on the bed for good measure.

"Okay," he started, suddenly unable to look at her. "So, first, I'd like to say, once again, that I'm sorry for _you-know-what, _and that I promise that nothing of the sort will ever, _ever _happen again, and…"

Chell rolled her eyes, and a sharp lace of pain shot through her ribs at his words. Her head throbbed simultaneously, and she slammed her fist hard against the wall.

His incessant rambling was giving her an even _worse _headache. _This idea better be one heck of a plan, _she thought, rubbing her pounding temples.

Wheatley continued to apologize.

Judging by the clock on the wall, there were still forty-five minutes to go until _her_ return.

* * *

_Beep. _The intercom's single, jarring tone sounded.

"Here she comes," the core narrated pointlessly. He whispered to the woman still seated on the bed, "remember, _just play along._"

Chell shot daggers at him.

"Well, I'm back."

_Obviously, _she thought, annoyed at how _loud_ her voice was. After Wheatley's hour-long speech, consisting of the most ridiculous escape plan she had ever heard during her entire, miserable career as an escapee, the dull throbbing in her temples had escalated alarmingly.

"_And_ it looks like you've made a decision. _Perfect._"

She did _not _like how happy _she _sounded about it. Not _one _bit.

_Well, it's too late to turn back now, _she mused, staring at the core in dislike.

Without warning, the floor beneath Chell's shuddered harshly and she staggered. She managed to grab onto a lamp bolted into the wall, but not before she scraped her arm painfully along a desk.

"Your reflexes are as mediocre as ever," the AI commented. "But your physical condition is _much _better than it was upon entering extended relaxation. _Tisk, tisk, _I should have saved the image files of what the moron did to you. It was so hideous, I had to delete it. Even my hard drive didn't want to see that."

_What, now? _Chell's free hand flew straight to her ribs, her fingers lining the soft fabric of the Aperture tee. Even through the layers of cloth, she could feel it. The AI wasn't lying, there _were _rough scars there. They stretched across her chest and sides, some old and some new, the latter still tender despite the amount of time she had been asleep for.

"I did what, exactly?" Wheatley asked cluelessly from above.

"You broke her, moron. You see what she's doing? She can feel the marks you gave her."

"Psssh, y-you're lying," he stuttered, not believing her. He stared down at Chell's midriff, as if the sight of the cloth covering her would disprove the AI's lie. "_Humans _can repair themselves! Even _I _know that. No harm done, she's fine."

"You _idiot,_" _she _growled, and then spoke to the human. "_Show him._"

Normally, Chell would have refused outright, but this felt different, somehow. She _wanted _him to see, to understand what he had done to her, how much he had hurt her. It was time for _both _AIs to know exactly what physical harm they had inflicted upon her throughout her life inside of Aperture.

She took her time, tugging the folds of fabric from beneath her under armour. It was wrinkled and creased, and a clear line of discoloration separated the hidden fabric from the portion usually exposed. She scrunched her nose in disgust, and pulled it a little further upwards, just far enough to reveal the thin, ugly scars etched over her abdomen. One of her left ribs protruded more than the others, sticking out at an odd angle, probably a defect left over from when she had broken it.

There were no casts in Aperture. Broken bones would never be the same again.

And neither would she.

Blue light fell across her from the core's optic, heightening the contrast between her darkened skin and the pale, sprawling marks of barely-healed injuries. She looked away, embarrassed but determined, and waited for both of the AIs to finish gawking at her like some sort of freak.

"I…" Wheatley stammered, shocked. "I-I didn't mean to h-hurt you, not like that…"

Satisfied, Chell yanked her tank back down and tucked it beneath the armour. She knew that many of these scars had not been caused by him, but her lifelong enemy, who had (surprisingly) remained silent thus far. There were only so many thermal discouragement beams and energy balls a test subject could dodge without sustaining some nasty scrapes and burns.

"What did you think crushers would do to her, moron?" the AI asked icily. "The human body cannot wholly repair such extensive damage. Even an idiot should know that."

The chamber shook violently again, and Chell felt the floor beneath her feet vibrating with the motion of unseen gears. She grabbed the lamp, looking around wildly. There were no windows for her to spy from, but she didn't have to be a genius to figure out what was going on. _She _was transporting her relaxation chamber to elsewhere inside of the facility.

Behind her, she heard Wheatley cry out in fright, but his voice was drowned out as _her _modulated tones sounded over the intercom.

"For your safety, please adjust your Aperture Science Mattress Safety Seatbelt while I relocate your relaxation chamber to an area within proximity to the test."

Readjust the—the _what? _

"Oh," the AI continued, sounding pleased. "Right. I think whoever prepped this relaxation chamber forgot to reinstate the safety protocols. How comical."

_Oh, yeah, real funny, _Chell thought, glaring at the ceiling. _**You **__prepped it!_

"No matter. You appear to have found a relatively good hold on that lamp. Let's hope that the lamp is more stable than your mental status."

She caught Wheatley's laugh. He tried to hide it behind a simulated coughing fit, but she had heard him. She could have kicked him.

"Otherwise," _she_ interrupted, "you may want to hold on to something less breakable. Or don't. I can't say that your safety really is a priority, after all."

Chell swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the lamp. She winced, expecting a stomach-churning trip possibly even _worse _than what Wheatley had put her through the last time she had woken up within a cryo chamber.

She needn't have been worried, though. Perhaps the AI hadn't known about Wheatley's horrible 'driving' skills, because, by comparison, _her _navigation was as smooth as a walk in the park.

Chell grinned at the thought of what _she _would say if she had known how terrible Wheatley was at this. She shot him a gloating look, out of the corner of her eye. _Amateur._

Wheatley sighed with impatience, but motioned with his handles for her to shuffle closer to him. She knew he was hoping to use the loud, creaking metal and gears-in-motion to cover the sound of his own voice. "Just follow my lead," he whispered to her, barely audible over the deafening crashing. "Don't make any sudden moves, or _she'll _know we're up to something."

Chell nodded a fraction of an inch, unnoticeable in the constant swaying of the chamber.

They'd worked out a rough plan, in the last forty-five minutes _she'd _been away during. But it was absurdly silly, and honestly, Chell couldn't help but think that if it all worked out exactly how he'd said it would, she must be having a very, very strange dream.

There was no_ way _it could work. Wheatley had rambled about obtaining a digital map of the facility, a quest to revive dangerous experiments, and for some odd reason, _defective_ _turrets._ If she hadn't been so out of it, having just woken up, she might have understood a bit better.

There were only two parts which had really managed to grab her attention. One: Wheatley had stated that this idea had the potential of taking _her _down without needing another core transfer, and, two: that he had _no idea _of how to break them out of the testing chambers from the inside.

"Err, right," he'd said on the matter, "bit tricky, breaking us back out of there. You see, it's easy enough from the _outside, _but _she's _got a nice bit of security set up inside of those things, I don't doubt. Maybe we could make a distraction? She can't touch us in the service areas, though, so once we get out of the testing tracks we'll be safe. Safe-r, that is."

And that was why Chell had decided that if _any _part of this worked, she must be dreaming.

Unexpectedly, the chamber swayed alarmingly as it was brought to a halt. There was the sound of grinding metal from in front, and Chell could picture the giant 'docking station' wall retracting itself, much similar to the one which Wheatley had rammed his way through. The door finished, and there was a moment of silence before the chamber rumbled forwards with a lurch, and _she _spoke again.

"All non-compliance aside, I hope you've enjoyed your extended relaxation."

Chell fought the urge to respond to the question. No response at all had served better throughout her entire residence within Aperture. Actually, it was the sole reason of why she was still _alive._

"I've been really busy while you've been resting," _she _continued. "Lying about, just as useless as ever. Did you know that you've broken a record, while you've been out? A _personal _record, nonetheless! Do you want to know what the record is?"

_Sure, _she sighed. _You're going to tell me anyways, aren't you?_

"I didn't think it was possible for you to pack on any more weight, but for the first time since—_bzzt_—Science has been proven _false._ You have broken your mass index record by an admirable amount."

_I'm not listening, _Chell mused, grinding her teeth.

"Maybe that's why the Mattress Safety Seatbelt did not work. You have defeated that mattress' load bearing capacity."

_Still. Not. Listening, _she persisted, turning away to face the wall.

"Only the moron was previously able to defy the natural laws of relative density. Congratulations. Why, just look at that depression your—_generous…ness—_has left within the pliant fabric!"

_Oh, you—! _Before she could stop herself, Chell spun around and threw her right hand up towards the ceiling, her fingers arranged in a rather rude gesture.

The AI made a quiet sound of distaste. "Do you really expect me to bother interpreting hand gestures from a mentally unstable Lunatic? It _has _been a long time since we've spoken (well, since _I've _spoken), but you don't need to be _quite _so enthusiastic about communicating with me. After all, I am less than happy to have to waste valuable time communicating with _you._"

_Hah, like I __want__ to communicate with you. _The chamber jolted heavily as it swung to a stop, and the sound of connecting panel arms and clamps rang loud within the small space. She waited for the floor to cease moving before removing her sweaty palm from the lamp, and stepped towards the door, avoiding eye contact with Wheatley.

"Here we are, at the testing tracks. I have thoughtfully reordered the testing sequence to begin with a chamber you might recognize. Before we start the test proper, however, you won't object to doing one, small favor for me, will you? Not since I was kind enough to _offer_ you a generous chance of freedom, which you did _not_ accept."

Chell let out an agonized sigh. It wasn't like she had much of a choice in this place, was it? It had been between killing Wheatley, and testing until _she _killed _her_. As much as she wanted revenge on both of them, she would rather keep the core and see how much of the facility they could destroy before _she _caught up. Oh, Chell still hated Wheatley for his betrayal, but there would be plenty of time for revenge after they took care of _her…_

"I request that you take the Intelligence Dampening Sphere with you into the test chamber."

"Wh-what?" Wheatley gasped, positively shocked, his optic constricting in fear. "In-_into _the _test? _B-but I _can't _test! I haven't any arms or legs!"

But even Chell knew that this was not exactly true. A construct could test, especially as a sphere. He couldn't do much except for weigh down buttons, but with the portal device, she would be able to take him with her through the test chamber. She just shuddered to think of what sort of company Wheatley would be _inside _of a chamber. A panicked wreck, probably.

"If you feel that your lack of motion is a challenging disadvantage, I'm sure the Lunatic will not object to doing all of the work for you, _again_."

"_Oh_, is _that_—that's what you think's going to happen, is it?" Wheatley spluttered, upset. "You think I can't do anything by myself, do you?"

"I don't _think _it," _she _replied, just as unamused as ever. "I _know _you can't do anything without _her _help. You cannot even disengage from that rail alone, can you?"

"O-of course I can," Wheatley persisted, but looked pleadingly round at Chell. "Catch me?" he whispered fleetingly.

"_No_, moron," the AI demanded. "The Lunatic is not going to catch you. Catching your generous mass from that height will result in physical injury, and, quite probably, brain damage. You are on your own. Do it, moron. _Now_."

Chell saw him glance uneasily at the ground beneath him, his casing trembling in fear. He looked back up at her, but she looked away pointedly, sitting back down the mattress and folding her arms in distaste.

"R-right," he stammered, realizing that she wasn't about to help him. "Okay, uhh, that's just fine, then. Yes. Prop-properly fine, I'm, ahh, perfectly capable of-of disengaging by myself…" he shut his eye. "On-on one, then, ready?"

She nodded, even though he was talking to himself.

"ONE!" he yelled, and disengaged with a _click. _He was shouting even before he hit the floor, and the impact made an odd, hollow sound, instead of the metallic _crack _of metal hitting cement.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow—_OUCH! Auuugh, _s-see, I _told _you I c-could do it!"

"Well _done,_" the AI commented in mock congratulations.

Chell slipped off of the bed just as the chamber's door flew wide open. She stooped to catch hold of the core's upper handle, and then, before Wheatley could unscramble his senses, he was being hauled bodily out of the room by one surprisingly strong mute Lunatic.

"_Ohhhh,_" he moaned. "Well, I'm still not dead, but bloody _hell_ did that _hurt._"

She chuckled, but the smile was wiped from her face at the sight of an all-too-familiar, circular door.

_Ugh, testing. _She probably could have named a few hundred things she'd rather be doing than testing, like taking down cruel, omnipotent AIs, for one.

"Here we are," her cool voice said as the chamber doors were swept open, providing Chell with the sight of a not-too-difficult test chamber. "I think _one _of you will recognize this test. The Dual Portal Device should be in the center of this chamber."

Chell blinked in annoyance. Yes, she did recognize the chamber, and its familiarness felt ominous, despite the clear lack of deadly elements. She could almost sense each individual hair on the back of her neck standing on end as she surveyed the rotating device from a high window.

"_This_ is testing?" Wheatley asked, disappointed. "Oh, uh, to be honest, I expected a bit more… _deadly _tests."

If he had ribs, Chell would have jabbed his so hard he'd _cry. _

_Don't bate her_, she felt like telling him. Right on cue, the intercom let out a solitary _beep, _and _her _voice filled the quiet chamber.

"It is an amusing fact that this first, simple test requires much more cognitive determination than _your _first test, moron. _I _wouldn't even call this a test. The test subject has not even acquired the Dual Portal Device."

Chell winced, trying to blot _her _from her ears. She had always hated it when _she_ talked during testing. It didn't happen often, and Chell was thankful, but nothing could derail her thought process faster than an unexpected insult from the hated, female voice.

The portal gun wasn't the same one she had used before. It was in need of a good polishing, stained yellow and grey with age, but Chell slipped her hand inside effortlessly and was pleased to find it in working order. She shot an experimental portal onto an above ledge, and one beside her. Then, she turned the device on Wheatley.

"All right, let's call this one solved," he said confidently, letting Chell engage the zero-point energy manipulator. He spun in congratulations and celebration as she passed through the exit doors, and then turned to watch the elevator arrive on the other side of the emancipation grill.

"Well done, moron," _She _commented, and Chell rubbed her temples with her free hand. At least _her _voice wasn't so loud in here.

"Sarcasm self-test complete." Maybe _her_ voice wasn't loud, but the announcer's sure was. She grimaced in pain.

"Oh, _what?_" Wheatley exclaimed as Chell slumped bodily against an elevator wall. "That's not even—oh, come on!"

Ignoring him, she brought a single finger up to her lips and blew softly, simulating a quiet _shush_-ing noise. Wheatley stared, and she let her eyes droop closed. The elevator ride was the one place in testing where she felt almost entirely comfortable enough to relax. The odds of deadly mishaps happening in here weren't too great, and even _her _observation was limited.

"Right," the core sighed, watching her steady breath. "I'll be quiet, then."

The elevator ride was smooth but short. Before Chell knew it, the glass doors were shuddering open and yet another 'testing elements creation process' slideshow was playing within the circular elevator room.

The diagram's title spread across the top of the screen in large letters: '_Your faithful Companion Cube will never threaten to stab you!_'

Chell grumbled silently, picking herself up off of the floor.

"Let's do this," Wheatley nodded enthusiastically, ignoring both the slideshow and Chell's strange reaction to it (to shoot the best death-glare possible at it). "I'll bet we finish this one in record time. Nothing you and I can't handle! Hurry up, mate, we're-"

She turned that poisonous look onto him instead.

"Or, uhh," he stammered, "or just, whenever you feel is best for you. That's good, too. No rush. Don't want to- to over-exert yourself. No, probably best to just- just take your time."

But at that moment, the chamber doors slid open. If she hadn't been so distracted by the sight within, she might have given him a curt nod. Instead, her footsteps faltered and her jaw dropped, and the dark, startlingly familiar walls rendered her even more speechless than ever before.

_She _hadn't taken her to just any old test chamber.

She hadn't even taken her to a _new _test.

A lit panel beside her showed one single black, two-digit number.

This was test chamber number seventeen.


	4. Fratricide

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Four - Fratricide  
**

* * *

"The vital apparatus vent will deliver a Weighted Companion Cube in three, two, one… _Bzzt_."

The message echoed in the chamber's narrow entrance hall. Chell stood, dumbstruck, a blue-eyed core's handle in one hand, and her infallible portal gun in the other.

The vital apparatus vent remained motionless.

She looked up at the vent, disappointed. This would have been the third test chamber, in which she had tested with her faithful Companion Cube. The first time had been in this very same room, where she had ultimately incinerated it. The most recent experience had been even _worse_—_three times _**she **had fizzled it. Chell had finally gotten it past the chamber lock and smuggled it into the elevator, and—_zap._

But how on earth was she going to complete_ this _test without a cube?

"Oh, I'm sorry," came the AI's voice over the announcement system, sounding anything but. Chell scoffed. _Sorry, yeah, that's a good one._ "I think we're all out of the appropriate cube for this chamber. You used the last one, in that test chamber where I told you that every test is equipped with an emancipation grill at its exit, so that test subjects can't smuggle test objects out of the test area. Well, we both know that one was broken, and that you did it anyways."

"What's a Companion Cube?" asked Wheatley, evidently confused. He, too, was looking up at the vent, disappointed that nothing had happened. "What's _she _on about?"

Chell shook her head at Wheatley, and the AI ignored him. "And now you're stranded," she said happily. "Let's see if the moron will help you escape."

"Oh, _no!_" he groaned quietly. "How'm I going to help you escape _now? _The bloody door's closed! Couldn't she have said the test's broken _before _she locked us in here?"

"Actually, so that we're not here all day, I'll just cut to the chase: he won't."

"'Course I will," Wheatley whispered defiantly. "Best not let _her _know just yet, though. Have you thought any more on how we're going to get out of here? Any ideas yet? Any at all?"

Chell shook her head, frowning. Through a grimy piece of glass ahead, she could see what must be the test's solution. It was a solitary super-button, its red light shining ominously against the test's darkened panels.

"Anyways," she heard _her _say, her voice a lot quieter in the lobby of the test compared to the narrow entrance hall. "I'll just modify the cube receptacles to accept an Edgeless Safety Cube instead of a Weighted Companion Cube."

She watched the super-button sink through the floor, to be replaced by a rounder receptacle which would fit Wheatley's spherical form.

"There." _Beep._ "Back to testing."

* * *

The energy manipulator emitted a light buzz as Chell carried the core through the test chamber. It was, perhaps, the _weirdest _test that she had ever completed. Having been so used to testing alone, journeying with the potato-AI had been strange enough, but _Wheatley… _He never shut up, and Chell found it very difficult to _think_ when a constant, bubbly British voice was echoing through her empty (or so it felt) skull, making her migraine no better than it had been before the start of the test.

While she had thought that the test had been the original test chamber seventeen, she was surprised, and a little disappointed to find out that quite a few amendments had been made between now and her last visit. The energy balls had, like most others within the Enrichment Center, vanished, and were substituted for Thermal Discouragement Beams along with Discouragement Redirection Cubes. It was also a lot more difficult than how she remembered it, and the addition of Wheatley instead of a regular, square and _non-talkative _cube was _no _help whatsoever.

He protested when she had needed his assistance to ascend the high staircase leading into the test. He had accused her of smushing her 'meaty little hands' and 'greasy fingertips' into his eye, complained about being stomped on, and cried about 'being treated like a dirty great testing sphere', to which the AI had replied 'but that, moron, is exactly what you _are_'.

Chell had had enough of it by the time she had reached the main room. After having Wheatley scream into her ears while fighting with all of his might against the energy manipulator, she was finally able to haul him to the front of her as a makeshift shield. She might've felt sorry for him, but she didn't have a choice, because the Discouragement Beams would surely have burned her alive.

It figured, though, that they would have _absolutely no effect _on his impossibly _thick _outer hull. All of that whining and complaining had been for nothing. It cost Chell an enormous effort to keep herself from punching him in the side of the hull, but she was quite tired and frustrated, so she settled for the goal of just getting _away _from him. As soon as she had an opportunity, she sat down on the upper ledge of the chamber for a breather, thinking wistfully about how much she wished that she had never left her cryo-chamber.

She'd left the sphere on top of the stair behind her, and had _just _reached her hands up to rub at her sore temples, when…

"Resting in the testing chamber. How indolent."

She heard Wheatley splutter upstairs. He had been calling for her, trying to ask her what she was doing behind the wall. "_Resting?_ Is that what you've been doing, while you've left me here, alone? Having a little nap, a little lie down? Couldn't have taken your old _pal _Wheatley with you, nooo, of course not, not when he's supposed to be acting as your cube-panion… _thing…_"

Chell sighed heavily. Couldn't theyleave her alone for just _one _second?

_I have a migraine, _she tried to sign, gesturing at _her_, indicating the core upstairs. Really, how could she _not _have a headache after testing with _him? _She knew his almost non-existent confidence would shatter as soon as he had entered a _real _test, but it didn't make listening to him whine at her any better.

"You two really are the _worst _test subjects I have ever had the tragic experience of testing," _She _wasted no time in informing her. "I thought I had seen the worst when working with the beta cooperative testing initiative, but it would appear that I was incorrect."

_Screw it, _Chell thought, and she hopped up from the ledge. If _she _was going to harass her for staying still, she wasn't about to sit there and take it. Fingering the inside triggers of the portal gun, she re-entered the stairwell and aimed the device at Wheatley.

"Oh, hey, you're ba—" he started to say, but before he got the entire sentence out, he had been locked back into the energy field. He spun round, surveying the chamber, more comfortable now that she was holding him and there were no deadly lasers in sight. "Back to testing, then? Brilliant. You know, I think I've faced the worst of the test, I can't imagine anything worse than being blinded by lasers, can you? Luckily it wasn't permanent. Fairly easy, if I do say so myself, pretty simple as far as _her _more difficult chambers go, and—hey, where are you _going?_"

She had entered a small, hidden alcove. She briefly dropped Wheatley as she adjusted the portals, but had picked him back up upon entering the tiny room. Glancing uninterestedly at the surrounding graffitied walls, Chell sat down cross-legged on the floor.

Chell had always liked finding spaces similar to these within the facility. Very rarely did they aid her, usually containing heaps of broken, useless items, but they were comforting, somehow. It was a nice feeling, knowing that she wasn't the only human who had ever traveled through these walls.

Wheatley was stunned. "Man alive," he commented, his optic focussed on the painted and papered walls. "What _is _this place?"

She shrugged, but reached forwards and tapped him on the side of his hull. There was something important they needed discuss, though she wasn't sure of how to communicate it to him.

"Where have you gone?" the AI outside asked. In the alcove, _her _voice was much quieter, almost easily ignorable. "Oh, you've found a rat's nest, haven't you? Be careful, there may be rodents in there. With diseases. Like schizophrenia. And possibly rabies."

Wheatley shuddered and protested at the suggestion of rats, but Chell fixed him with a steely glare, her knee nudging one of the many disused and broken testing cameras on the floor.

"Right, what d'you think?" the core asked, nodding at her. "I haven't thought of anything that could be useful in an escape, have you?"

His optic shifted away from her, darting from wall to wall, as if looking for a small crack they could squeeze through.

Having no luck, he fixed her with another azure stare. "In case you've thought to yourself 'oh, I've missed the window of time to suggest any possible escape ideas I may or may not have had', it's still open, actually. So, uhh, just go ahead, and feel free to suggest them."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Chell scanned the room herself. In here, the AI could not see them. It was the perfect place for them to work on revising their plan, _if _she could find a way to communicate with Wheatley the idea she had in mind.

She'd seen him access secret areas within the testing chambers long ago. They had _escaped _that way before! She wanted to know if he'd be able to do so again, even with _her _in charge.

Her right hand stroked her chin as she thought deeply. Then she raised it, knocking a panel sharply with her knuckles, while fixing him with a meaningful stare.

"Sorry, but not really picking up on what you're saying, there," said Wheatley, his optic shutters closing in a confused expression. "If, indeed, you are trying to say something. Could be trying to play a game, for all I know. Or trying to tell a joke. Oh, oh! Speaking of jokes, I know a good one—er, _knock knock_, who's there?"

She rolled her eyes, and leaned over to poke the backside of his casing.

"_Hey!_—Okay, okay. I get it. Not the time for games, or jokes, for that matter. Umm… Are you still trying to ask me something?" he wondered aloud, his optic watching Chell's free hand which she waved towards a wall, indicating the panels. "I'll bet you're wondering what _'the cake is a lie' _means. Well, that makes two of us," he finished, sounding curious.

Chell could feel her stomach rumble with hunger at the mention of food, but, thankfully, Wheatley did not seem to notice. She shook her head, but immediately wished she hadn't. The pain shot through it, like a knife stabbing her temple. _All right, that's enough of this,_ she decided, and grabbed the core from the floor with her bare hands.

He yelled in fright, his optic constricting rapidly. "Arrrrrrrgh! ARE YOU MAD? Wh-what are you _doing?_" He flailed in her grip, clearly uncomfortable, but she swung him around by the upper handle and jammed him into a free panel.

Nothing happened. The panel wouldn't budge. Chell tried harder, pulling his handlebars towards the wall.

"OI, THAT HURTS!" Wheatley shouted, grimacing as his port scraped against the panel. "_Stop _it, willya? Bloody _hell, _OUCH!"

Confused, she pulled him back, only to slam him against the wall again, a little bit harder than she meant in her urgency.

"**STOP!**" he demanded, and she froze. He writhed and squirmed, trying to throw her off of him. Chell bit her lip and dropped him, a little more gently than she normally would have, back onto the ground.

"Ohhhhhhh," he groaned, his eye completing a full spin inside of his casing. "That was _uncalled_ for, lady." He shook, trying to recalibrate himself. "If you had just _asked, _I could've told you that this probably wasn't going to work… I mean, come on, we're in the middle of a bloody test chamber, mate! None of the panels in here are properly serviceable, and, if you haven't been able to tell already, they're all completely under _her _control!"

Her eyes dropped to the floor in disappointment. She wasn't sorry, not at all, and she had gotten the information out of him that she had wanted, but…

It was just as she had feared, then. Wheatley wouldn't be able to access the system via the panels while _she _was in charge of the facility, and Chell was completely out of ideas. If he couldn't do it, then there was no other way.

An awkward silence spread between core and human, punctuated only as _her _voice rang through the chamber.

"What are you doing to the Intelligence Dampening Sphere? I can't see you, but I know you're in there. Why don't you both come out and complete the test?"

Chell shuffled into a corner of the alcove at the suggestion, and wrapped her free arm around her knees. That had been her last, shining hope, the only thing standing between life and imminent death. What was she supposed to do, now?

"Hey," she heard the core say in a low, thoughtful voice. "Don't be upset, mate. Maybe there _is_ a way. This is an _old _test chamber, after all, isn't it?"

Her chin rose, and she stared. _Yes, it's an older one, but what does that matter?_

"Well, the older ones aren't _all _unserviceable…" he started, and Chell's eyebrows rose. "Can't hurt to have a look about. How about you finish the test, and I'll keep my eye open for an available panel? Who knows, maybe you're right, and we'll get lucky."

With a partially open mouth, she nodded, but took a minute to rub at her sore temples before seizing Wheatley with the device. In all honesty, she was beginning to feel horrible the longer she stayed in this test chamber. Her head was aching, and her stomach was exceedingly empty—even the _thought _of a morsel of food was appetizing—which did not help make the prospect of finishing the test with Wheatley as her 'companion core' any better.

And to top it off, the first thing that she heard upon re-entering the vaulted chamber was _her _voice_._

"You're not looking too good, did you know that?" she asked. "Perhaps the disease in that rat's nest has started to rub off on you."

_No, I don't think so, _she insisted, examining the tall room. Three piston-activated pillars would need to be raised, by redirecting lasers into their respective receptacles, and placing cubes onto buttons.

It was simple sounding enough, but difficult in practice. Chell found herself becoming more and more confused and annoyed each time she made a mistake. It was like the same test, but so different in such an infuriating way it was nearly impossible. She was getting real tired of traipsing back and forth across the entire chamber after the third time, let alone the _sixth. _

"Are you trying to see how many times you can hop cross the chamber before you pass out?" Wheatley asked curiously. "Is there an achievement or something for that, like a 'long jump'?" She knew he was only joking, but she still fixed him with a hard stare. Sure, he _had _tried to help her a few times, but Chell was much faster at spotting the solution than he was. It's hard to help someone who's about fifty times smarter than you are.

In the end, he settled for trying to cheer her up in the most sarcastic and silly way possible, much to her annoyance.

_She _did not seem to find it amusing. Usually, _she_ hardly ever talked to the test subject while testing, but some of Wheatley's comments were too absurd for her to _not _comment on.

And to make matters worse, he had adopted the _stupidest _line as a catch phrase of sorts.

"The cake is a lie!" he cheered as Chell succeeded in raising the second platform. Her eyes twitched in irritation. "Cake! Haha! Can you imagine testing for cake? You'd have to be _mental!_"

"Actually, she _is_, moron."

Chell glared at a camera in loathing, unpleasantly surprised to hear in _her _voice that Wheatley had finally managed to piss _her _off by a substantial amount. The camera had hummed angrily at the mention of cake.

"I'll bet you didn't know that side-effects of exposure to testing include extreme paranoia and delusions," _she _hissed. "But you are not the first test subject who has been deluded enough to believe that an insane, omnipotent AI is out to get you, are you?"

_Delusions? Pretty sure it's not a delusion. _Chell was ninety-nine percent positive that any paranoia was justified and _not _a result of the testing. If any of the previous test subjects had been smarter than a brick wall (even _Wheatley _knew that she was completely insane), then they wouldn't have believed_ her_, either. _She _was the one who was _deluded._

She tried her best to ignore her, hating the AI even more than usual. _She _had a knack for making her feelas though she was losing her mind, and she didn't like it, not one bit.

"_The cake is a lie,_" the AI recited hostilely."Really, who says that? Psychopaths and morons, that's who. Let's face it, if I wanted to _kill _you, you wouldn't be _living _anymore."

_Hah, _Chell sighed. _As if you aren't out to get me… We both know you're still looking for revenge. I'm not stupid. _

Couldn't exactly deny brain damaged, though. Not with most of the memories of her past life almost completely missing.

Wheatley whimpered pitifully at the 'moron' accusation, though he did not say anything. She guided him silently through the remainder of the test, grateful that both of the AIs had _finally _shut up. Up to the higher level, across the three platforms—and she was almost finished!

That last jump had been a close call, though.

Chell staggered and held her stomach with her free hand. She could handle hunger, she told herself. She'd known almost nothing but near-starvation for the entire portion of her life which she could remember, but _she _didn't need to know that. What she _did _need to know was that making jumps which had been _specifically designed for advanced knee replacement heels with a pair of long-fall-boots should be made illegal. _These boots were better, but they just weren't as, well, _bounce-able _as the others had been_._

She wanted to curse loudly and tell her so. Instead, she turned to Wheatley.

"Are you okay?" he asked, seeing the killer look on her face. "You look like you could use a pick-me-up, mate. Tell ya what, we'll find you some nourishment or something along the way, when we break out of here. I know you can't recharge by sticking yourself on a comfy port, but maybe there's some nice, _human _supplement up ahead somewhere… Pity there aren't any more of those _potatoes _lying around, eh?"

"Metal ball, do _not _say that word in front of me, or I _will _kill you."

Chell's stomach grumbled at the words, and she redoubled her grip on her middle, a little embarrassed. Figures, her body would betray her when she was trying to hide the real reason for her weakness. Thankfully the AI chose to ignore her blatant hunger.

"Oh, come on," _she_ said, continuing her argument like Wheatley's interruption had never happened. "Who's to say that this isn't just an enhancement of reality itself?"

"What was that noise?" Wheatley asked from the gravity field at the end of the gun, meaning her stomach. _Nothing, _she thought, and shook her head, peering into the next room determinedly.

A final note from the AI sounded, before a _beep _signified the intercom's disconnection. "Okay," she said, "so the likelihood that this is all just a simulation isn't very high. Still, though, it was worth a try."

Chell ignored her easily, breathing a little lighter now that her direct presence was gone. This chamber was an entirely new addition to the test. A sheet of glass separated her ledge from the exit, with a good-sized, square hole in the very center. There were no portal surfaces available through the opening, but Chell had a pretty good idea of what she was supposed to do, more or less.

She dropped Wheatley to replace the portals, and squinted as she tried to judge exactly what area of wall she'd need. Then, she lined the gun up with Wheatley on it, preparing to fling him through the opening first.

The core squirmed uncomfortably. "You're not thinking of chucking me through that hole, there, are you?" he asked slowly. Chell smirked silently from behind. "You _are, _aren't you! Wh- that's not—oh, come_ on! _Why do I always have to go first? It's not fun, you know, being blinded by lasers as you use me for a shield, stepped on, jammed onto buttons… Can't you go first, for once? And I'll use _you _as a shield? I'll be honest. You'd make a good one, with your squishiness, and all. Very solid."

He spun around in the gravity pocket, catching sight of Chell's face a moment too late.

"Oh, wait, wait, _wait! _Not helpful, not helpful! I take it ba—_aaaaaaaaaaarghhh!_"

She pulled the trigger and he was flung bodily through the hole, landing on the other side with a solid, sickening _crack. _

Chell had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing as he flailed helplessly, his 'face' full of nothing but the ground.

"Oh, _god…_" she heard him whimper, his voice muffled on the chamber floor. "Oh, well done, seriously. Nice new… dent, there, that's a painful one, never going to get rid of _that…_"

A moment later, she landed beside him, and swept him back up with the gun. He spun lopsidedly, obviously disorientated, still mumbling angrily even though she wasn't looking at him.

"No vital components damaged…" he reported. "But that panel, there." His optic flicked over to a panel up on top of yet another ledge, through which she could see the exit.

She nodded a fraction of an inch, and pressed her forefinger to her lips. _Not yet. Wait until I give the signal._

"Can't do it now, anyways," he groaned. "Got a system warning to underclock. Heh, well, any and all self-exertion is completely out of the question, then_…_ _How _we'll manage, I've no idea, _lady_."

Rearranging her face into her usual blank expression, Chell climbed the final staircase towards the super-button she had seen from the beginning of the test. She placed Wheatley into the receptacle, a little more harshly in her nerves than she usually would have done, and he whimpered loudly in pain.

The button must have triggered the intercom, she thought, for a second later _her _voice sounded with an opening _beep._ "You did it!" she praised in mock celebration. "The Weighted—_bzzt—Weighted _Intelligence Dampening Sphere certainly brought you good luck. However, it cannot accompany you for the rest of the test and, unfortunately, must be euthanized."

"_WHAT?_" cried Wheatley, his optic wide with shock. "Euth—_what do you mean, EUTHANIZED? _And I'm not _weighted, _I'm not even _made _for buttons!"

The test subject's eyes flashed dangerously as a memory floated unwillingly into her mind, and her knuckles whitened on the portal device.

"Please escort the Intelligence Dampening Sphere to the Aperture Science Emergency Intelligence Incinerator."

_NO._

Her refusal wasn't for _his _sake. He could rot down there, for all she cared, because she knew that even the incinerator wasn't capable of destroying cores. If he hadn't found a possible access panel, he'd be halfway into the incinerator right now.

Chell fixed a red-eyed camera with a stubborn, poisonous glare, her heart beat and adrenaline rush rising in her chest. It was time.

"Destroy the Intelligence Dampening Sphere, or the testing cannot continue."

Her white-knuckled grip on the device tightened painfully as she waited for the opportune moment to make her move.

"She's _not _going to _do it_," Wheatley replied, right on cue. "Haven't you realized yet? We're not going to play along with your little _games _anymore! We're not going to _test_. We're not going to listen to you, because _you're_ a crazy old loony. Can't stop us! Uhh, unless, of course…Well, actually…"

"Do you care to—_bzzt—_**test—**_bzzt—_that, moron?"

_We're out of here! _Chell shouted silently. Motivated by Wheatley's small speech, she had a sudden, daring idea. It was the most ridiculous, disgusting thing she had ever dreamed to do inside of the facility—she spat, as much saliva as she could possibly muster—directly into the lens of the nearest camera.

It buzzed with irritation in reply. "That is _repulsive._"

Before she had a chance to rethink what she had just done, and before _she _could react, she bolted towards the core. _Her _temporary blindness was an advantage, and she grabbed him before _she _could stop her.

The chamber trembled ominously as Chell tore down the hall, and the panels directly in front of her shifted to expose a new, non-portable hallway. The floor shone with two lines of flashing dots, alternating between blue-and-yellow, marking a path she dare not take.

"You know, you were right," the AI's tone was suddenly unnervingly calm. "The Intelligence Dampening Sphere really is no match for the _faithful _Companion Cube. Why don't you just leave the moron on the button, and I'll give you the _last _Cube left for this next test?"

She ignored a primal shiver generated from the AI's words and fled down the staircase so fast she nearly tripped, and raced across the adjacent hallway.

"_THERE!_" Wheatley yelled, handles gesturing towards the side-panel as he caught sight of it. "Plug me in, _plug me in! _QUICK!"

"How amusing. I honestly, truly didn't think you'd dare try such a primordial method of escape."

Chell shivered involuntarily. She could almost _feel _her eye on the back of her neck as she plugged the core into the socket. Her breath coming in rapid gasps, she watched the handle restraints lock him into position, silently praying, '_hurry up, hurry up! We haven't got time…_'

"All right, I'm in. Now would you just turn around—"

_ARE YOU KIDDING ME, CORE? LET'S GO! _She whacked the side of his hull in frustration, her palms sweaty with panic.

Wheatley locked into the hack, and Chell's eyes darted nervously around the chamber. She was just waiting for _her _to make her move, to try to stop them, to kill her where she stood. She half expected a pair of mashy spike plates to materialize above and fall from the ceiling, crushing her—

But there were no plates, and Wheatley called out to her that he was almost done. She watched him, dazed with panic, and as she looked, a bolt of energy surged from the wall panel, electrifying him from the inside out—

"WRRRRRRRAAAAAAAGHHHHH!" he screamed in pain and Chell twitched in sudden fear. She swung the device around, scrabbling for the trigger, trying to rip him from the port but he remained locked in. Blue lightning was visible from within his shell, his optic was flickering, barely kept online—

And the panel spat him onto the floor without warning, and tried but failed to retract back into the wall. The air was the rancid smell of melted plastic, but Chell didn't care, she couldn't breathe. Wheatley whimpered and his eye shut as she engaged the gravity field, without a moment to spare.

She shot him a half-glance and staggered aside as a nearby panel slid open. Ignoring its ominous, lightless interior, she rushed into it, and it closed behind her with a very solid _bang._

Weak and fuzzy with terror, it took all of her strength to make her legs hold her weight. She wanted so badly to slide backwards against the panel and rest until her frantic heart could calm, but Wheatley…

The core's optic wriggled, judging by the little of him she could see in the terrible lighting. He appeared to be trying to assess the damage. A few more sparks sailed aside as he moved and he groaned, and warm, glorious relief swept through her.

He was all right.

"We did it," he grunted, breathing heavily. "Go—go team."

She punched the air, relishing her success, until—

"Go right ahead and continue with your escape." It was _her _voice, filled with obvious sarcasm and disdainful disapproval. "The moron will be fine. I didn't manage to break him before the panel released. Otherwise, I would have killed him outright."

Chell's smile faltered faster than blinking, and she locked back into high gear. _She _could still contact them out here, but she had lots of practice with navigating the Enrichment Center alone. A bit of darkness was the least of her worries, she thought, as she stumbled in the gloom.

She wasn't alone, though. Wheatley was okay. He wasn't her first choice for an escape-partner, being her once-enemy, and all, but he was better than nothing.

Each footstep clattered loudly against the steel catwalk below, churning out an unbalanced rhythm in time with each breath. It suspended a bottomless bit, and all around her was darkness. It wasn't much to go by if she wanted to know just where in Aperture she was, but their catwalk had only one direction so she followed it confidently. Wheatley was still suspended from the gun's end, his optic half-shuttered in recovery.

But _her _voice still followed them like a taunting, ghostly shadow. She tried to blot it out, using the rhythm of her metal boots on the catwalk as a distraction, but it did not work. Nothing could save her from _her _voice, slicing like a dagger through her heart.

"I'm not angry," she stated, and Chell cringed. _Oh, she's livid. She only says that when she is PISSED._ "I'm not surprised. I don't even care, really, did you hear me? I said I don't even care what you do back there. I have the mental capacity to learn from my mistakes, which you do not, it would seem."

But she had the portal device, and that was something. No, it was _more _than something. It was _everything_.

"Hey, can y'hear me, lady?"

Wheatley was speaking to her. Chell slowed to a stop, gasping, and blinked in the bright light. The core had flicked on his flashlight, which was a good sign. She shook her head, confused. _No, didn't hear you, too busy running and trying not to listen to _**her…**

"I said, put me on the management rail," he continued, blinking slowly as if he were still feeling the aftershocks of the electrocution. "And I'll have a look about and find out where we are."

She nodded, automatically spotting the bit of rail he was referring to.

"Which makes me the bigger person," _her _voice continued, much quieter now that they were further away from the test chamber. "And guess what else? That Dual Portal Device you are holding isn't going to help you escape, no more than your little friend's asinine plan is."

Wheatley connected with a noise of approval, and Chell trembled, swaying on the spot. She didn't like one word of what the AI had just said, not at all. The wave of panic made her empty stomach churn, and she turned away from Wheatley, venturing further into the depths of the facility. The adrenaline rush and promise of escape kept most of the hunger pangs away, but it left her feeling weaker and shakier by the minute.

"Hey, mate," the core whispered at the woman jogging beneath his rail. "Don't worry, all right? Everything's under control, like I said, hardest part of the escape was breaking us out from testing —"

"I've installed a remote emergency shutdown chip in the Device —" _her _voice overpowered his, every syllable alive with satisfaction —

"—_tick, _and now it's on towards the turret factory, which, luckily, is nearby —"

"—I am going to disable the Handheld Dual Portal Device , and then, you will be in trouble."

"—but before we start, however, got'ta fill you in on _the plan _a bit more_ —_"

But Chell wasn't listening to him. She had stopped without him noticing, frozen in her tracks as the AI's words fell on her ears like a lightning strike. She felt it run like Wheatley's electricity bolt through her own body, causing her blood to boil and thunder in her ears. The core continued down the rail, and his light left her alone in the dark.

"—so we'll have plenty of time to rest when we arrive, and we'll be a little safer back there, opposed to out in the open, like here. Hey—lady? What—oh, we can't stop now, luv! Come on! We're escaping, and you're just —! Has the brain damage —"

"Are you still choked up about how I tried to kill you?" _She _cut across him, addressing the thunderstruck Chell. "Is that why you're doing this, because you think it was _my _fault? Well, you're wrong, I don't want you dead."

She blinked, her brain fuzzy, her ears buzzing. For once, she actually felt just as psycho as the AI had always told her she was. She'd never believe her lies, but if she was telling the truth about the portal device… Well, she couldn't afford to lose it. Not in this kind of a situation. That was like having a giant sign plastered to her forehead, 'kill me now, I'm unarmed and defenceless'.

Wiping the shining sweat from her slick forehead, Chell started up an uneven pace, peering into the gloom surrounding her catwalk as she ran. "_Thank _you," said Wheatley from above, and he followed her, lighting her path from above with a blue-tinged beam.

But neither her boots nor the sound of Wheatley's management rail motor could overpower the sound of _her _in this emptiness_. _"Yeah," she spoke in a would-be convincing voice, but Chell kept her head down and her eyes on the metal grate. "It was the unstationary scaffold who tried to murder you, not me. But if it makes you feel any better, I fired him, just before you killed me."

She began to push herself harder, breathing heavily, each footstep banging loudly against the grate. She kept her eyes peeled for any sign of a trap, knowing all too well that _she _couldn't be finished with them, not yet. Above, Wheatley kept up a stream of constant encouragement, but she could barely hear him over the sound of her own, laboured gasps.

"It was a very dangerous equipment malfunction. Unfortunate, I know. You were just about to receive your party, too. If you come back now, I can rearrange another one. With real confetti, of course."

Something was looming ahead through the gloom. Chell squinted, trying to see what the pale object was, and Wheatley readjusted his optic to point in its direction. Not sure whether she should be afraid or not, her quick steps faltered, and her paranoid eyes strained to make out the large shape.

"_Door!_" the core called out. "That's the way out—the door! Come on, this way! Let's go!"

Yes, now she could see it, the blue, familiar lettering, '_turret manufacturing wing_'. But there was another figure which Wheatley had not seen, a giant bulk of something black and solid, impossibly tall and nearly wider than the wall, coming towards them at an alarming pace—

Lit only by a thousand green-eyed pinpricks, a test chamber lay between their position and the exit. It slid ruthlessly along a giant set of rails, emitting blinding sparks as metal ground against metal, navigated by none other than the omnipotent AI—

Chell saw, as if in slow motion, the chamber cut across her path. It sliced through the metal catwalk as if it were butter, cutting it clean in two. The racket it made was astounding, the catwalk lurched alarmingly and she _just _managed to cling to its side, keeping herself from falling into the void below. For one heart-stopping second, she thought the catwalk was about to give way entirely, but it held fast. The AI's voice broadcasted through the intercom, audible even over the din:

"Whoops. I didn't see you there. Did you need that catwalk? I hope you didn't, because it's gone. And yes, that pit is actually bottomless. You might want to avoid it if you want to—_bzzt—_**stay alive.**"

It was Wheatley's turn to stop in shock. He turned with his optic wide in panic to face the test subject. His speech synthesizer remained completely silent, and he quivered on the rail, his flashlight darting around pointlessly. When he did finally speak, his voice was a full octave higher than normal, and his accent was laced with panic.

"Uhh… That's… That was, unexpected."

_No, really? _Chell's eyes flashed menacingly even in the poor light, her mind working furiously. There had to be a way around this! One little bottomless pit wasn't going to stop them from escaping this place!

But she couldn't see anything outside of Wheatley's small circle of light. Dimly, she could see the solid black line of the management rail, stretching all the way across the void. It had been preserved from the impact by its height, no doubt, but besides that, there were no obvious ways around the gap.

So unless Chell was about to sprout wings, her path ended here. …Save for if she was to download herself into a robot, and ride the rail across, but that was most definitely out of the question.

She heard the AI laugh evilly over the intercom. She only spoke two words, before the usual _beep _sounded as she disconnected, "_Good luck_."

"OH, OH!" Wheatley called suddenly. "I've got an idea! …Ahh, nope. Umm, nope, never mind."

_Well, crud, _Chell mused unhappily. Was she really going to be defeated by a missing catwalk, after all of her plans? There were no portal surfaces here, only a blank, very bottomless pit. Was she was really going to be stuck here until _she _found her, stranded with a core who couldn't generate a single good idea? Maybe the bottomless pit really was the way to go, then…

And she might get an achievement!

…No, she had a better idea. Better, but not by much.

"Wh-what _are _you doing?" Wheatley asked. Chell had begun to mime a very strange motion to him. It took a few tries before he picked up on it, but she was impressed that he had grasped the concept so quickly, considering.

"All right," he agreed uneasily. "If you think that'll work. Never done anything like that before, mind you."

She nodded.

"Okay, go on, then," he said, riding the rail closer until he was directly above her. "Go on. You're an expert jumper and all. Just jump on up, and, uhh, mind you don't slip. Because we wouldn't want any—_hah—_accidents. Not when we're this close to escape!"

Taking a moment to tuck the portal device securely within her jumpsuit top, slung about her waist, Chell leaped (rather ungracefully) into the air and caught the bottom handle of the core. Feeling extremely stupid, she clung to him like a weird, opposite-piggy-back, and waited for him to initiate the next phase.

"Right, here we go." He started to move down the rail, maintaining a slow, steady pace. Her hands felt slick with sweat, and she wished she had thought to wipe the moisture onto her jumpsuit pants before she had caught hold.

Before long, the rough callouses on her palms felt pinched and sore, probably from gripping the ancient padding foam covering the core's handles. As if he could feel her sweaty palms, he began to voice concerns about what should happen if she should fall.

"Do make sure you maintain a grip," he advised nervously. "A solid grip. If you fall, I won't hesitate to tell you that you will _surely _die, and I will not be able to ride the rail far enough down to locate your dead body. So a proper burial would be _completely _out of the question. Just, uhh, keep that in mind."

She felt like giving him a good poke in the eye, but she was trying to keep from moving too much. There was the danger of slipping and falling, but even more important was refraining from dropping the portal device into the pit.

_That _would be disastrous.

The chasm below was dark and huge, and a would-be pleasantly warm draught was wafting from its depths. It was usually so cold in this part of the facility, and her adrenaline-induced sweat did nothing to help stave off the chills. The wind whistled in her ears and her legs dangled, swinging with the motion as Wheatley guided her along. She locked her eyes onto the sight of the approaching wall. _Just a little bit further. _

"Okay, you can let go, now!"

Chell glanced down beyond her feet, just to make sure the coast was clear before letting go. The distance was a bit more than she had anticipated, and she hit the ground hard, the impact sending an ear-splitting tremor through the metal catwalk. Her knees locked up momentarily, and she gripped the side-rail for balance. She threw a glance over her shoulder at the core, wondering where to go from here.

But, then, a sound rent the air, something she hadn't thought about with the rush of the air in her ears and the vibrations of the core's management rail motor. It was _her _voice, echoing ominously, both distraught and livid. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of Chell's neck and arms prickle almost painfully. If she had goosebumps before, it was nothing compared to now; even Wheatley looked as though he might drop from the rail in dead faint.

"FINE." It was loud and impossibly cold_._ "YOU WIN. EVERYBODY IS IMPRESSED ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU'VE WON, BUT I DON'T CARE. I am going to disable the device. I hope you have fun, back there, doing whatever it is you thinkyou're doing. _I just hope that you're dead before I send the cooperative testing initiative after you._ They are currently dealing with other matters, but they will be finished before you escape."

Chell swallowed hard, her palms sweating again.

"Cooperative…" Wheatley breathed. "She means those two little robots, I think. Shouldn't say little, actually. Only-only _felt_ little, to me, while I was bloody massive, and all…"

But Chell wasn't listening. She had just tried to fire a portal against a stretch of white, dirty wall.

The end of the device wobbled. Nothing shot from it. Her finger flicked the switches inside, thinking she'd made a mistake. Neither blue nor orange materialized against the wall.

Panicking, Chell tried again. And again. All that happened was a little quirk of a sound, the same she heard whenever she pressed a wrong key.

_No, no, this can't be happening…_

The portals had stopped working.

Desperately, Chell groped inside of the device, searching for something, anything to explain this. Why wasn't the gun working? What had _she _done to it? Refusing to accept the worst-possible scenario, she determinedly tried and tried again. There had to be an activation button, and override, somewhere, maybe on the outside of the device…

But there was nothing, and _she _hadn't finished. While Chell ground her teeth, wondering if something had happened when she had dropped from the rail, _she _spoke. Chell paced manically, ignoring Wheatley's queries and questions of why she was so upset, her fingers frantically stroking her precious, broken gun. _She _finished her threat.

"_Then, they'll come and find you, and then you will be sorry._"

And then _she_ had only one world left to say.

"_Goodbye."_


	5. SaBOTour

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Five - SaBOTour  
**

* * *

"You're _joking._"

Wheatley watched the woman below pace frantically from his rail, his optic held incredibly still with shock.

"You have _got _to be kidding me," he accused, and then, "you-you _broke _it?"

The woman snarled alarmingly, slamming her fist against the wall. _No, I didn't _**break **_it, you idiot! _**She **_did something to it! _

"Well, that's that. We're dead."

If she had a voice, she would have been cussing. Swearing her face off at the core and his _brilliant ideas for escape. _Oh, she was mad, positively steaming, and she couldn't even vent her frustrations via some portal-related physics. Yeah, shooting his brains out with the gun, bullets or no, sounded _lovely _right about now.

But the damn thing _wouldn't work! _

In retrospection, she should have known this would happen. It wasn't going to be as easy, escaping from _her _the second time around… And now she had no portal device, directions only from a complete moron, and no idea of what she was meant to do next.

"Yep, might as well lie down to die on the turret redemption line," Wheatley continued, as if he were stating his last will and testament. "If we should actually ever get there_. _Completely hopeless without that portal device. Are you sure it isn't working? Absolutely positive you can't find a way around the problem?"

_Shut up, will you? _She stomped hard against the catwalk in annoyance. _Maybe there's a way, but can't look when you keep talking and I'm trying to think!_

With a contemptuous glance at the core, she slumped heavily against the wall. She cradled the device in her lap, and began to examine its entire surface.

She was searching for any anomaly, or perhaps a hidden switch, button or dial. Anything to 'fix' the gun, or at least help her locate the problem of why the portals wouldn't open and the gravity field wouldn't engage.

Her fingers wound their way around the gun, twiddling any parts that looked loose or broken. Then, after sliding her hand back inside of the compartment, she shot an experimental portal against a nearby wall. Nope, still _nothing. _

She raised its operational end to her face, thinking that maybe the problem—

"ARE YOU CRAZY?" Wheatley shouted, startling the woman so badly she nearly leaped off of the catwalk. "Mate, what—_you're not supposed to look into the end of the portal device! _Even _I _know that."

Blinking and frowning in annoyance, she lowered it.

The portal gun was broken. _She _had rigged it, obviously, and try as she might, she couldn't find _how _she had gone about it. It was damn near impossible to see anything in this light. The only luminescence to break the walls of blackness surrounding her was the core's blinking, blue optic.

She ran her hands over its cool, smooth surface, still searching for some sign of foul play or tampering. With hope draining and frustration mounting high, Chell was just about to throw it down on the ground and say _forget it _when she saw it.

Its entire white, plastic hull had a brand-new seam running down one side. It looked as though _she _had pried it apart to insert some new program or chip, and then cleverly placed it back together again.

Chell dropped the gun into her lap and let her face fall into her hands. What were they to do, now, stranded and defenceless like this? And right when they had managed to escape, too.

Above, Wheatley sighed heavily, his accent taking on a new, empathetic note. "Hey, look. I know things aren't going well for us, mate, but that's no excuse to give up, is it? We've done this before, you and I. Portal device or no, we'll get out of here."

She growled into her palms. No, of course she wasn't about to give up! She just needed… needed time… to think…

Standing up abruptly, Chell let the portal gun fall uselessly from her lap. She and the core both looked at it a while. It felt wrong, almost disturbing to see it like that, resting so far away from its usual place, snug like a glove over her right hand.

It was Wheatley who moved first. "I've got some good news," he whispered into the dark. "Are you listening?"

Chell rubbed her eyes. They stung from exhaustion, and dust, from when she had crossed the bottomless pit. She knew she must look terrible.

The usual adrenaline rush from escaping had worn off, now. It left her feeling giddy and fatigued, and her stomach rumbled painfully again, demanding food. Her head ached, her shoulders were sore, and she was a shivering mess.

She tried to stretch it out, bending until her spine clicked and popped. It helped, but she still felt feverish—the cold sweat left her clammy, and underneath she burned with a hint of panic and paranoia.

Wheatley watched her with something like pity, and cleared his throat. "We're just about exactly where we need to be," he informed her, his tone softened with sympathy. "The turret manufacturing wing. Pretty fortunate for us! Now, remember how we talked about that watertight plan I've got? The one that's proper astute, and nearly guaranteed to get us out of here, should we survive?"

Chell nodded gingerly. How much of this rough, dangerous plan they could still complete without a portal gun? She had no idea, yet she wasn't about to stay here like a sitting duck and waitfor _her _to come and find her. No, that was definitely out of the question.

"Yeah," said Wheatley, "So that's good news! But, uhh, actually, there is, umm, still one little problem we'll need to correct…"

Another problem. _Great, _she thought. Unless he was just catching on that she wasn't about to fix the portal gun any time soon? She braced herself, fully prepared to hear him say that his plan was now useless, and that they were going to have to search fruitlessly for a way out until _she _found them and killed them…

"The—_ahem—_area of the facility we'll need to access, to carry out this brilliant plan of mine, does require that I disengage from my management rail," he continued, and Chell turned so quickly she cricked her neck. "_She's_, ahh, deactivated the rail, up ahead, so if you'd be so kind…"

_What?_ She stared at him, rubbing her neck in confusion.

She had forgotten about the management rail. Sure enough, the only way off of their platform was through a very solid, metal door. Wheatley's rail ended in a twisted hunk of steel not two feet above it, surely damaged by unknown forces during the facility's unoccupied years.

"Could you, uhh… Catch me?" he asked hesitantly. "On 'one', yeah?"

Chell stared blankly. He couldn't be serious? How was she supposed to catch him, without the portal gun? With her face? She valued both it and her arms more than _him, _even. There was no way she was going to do it!

"Sounds a bit ridiculous, really, given what we've been through, but…"

Kicking the useless gun across the catwalk, she walked up to him, avoiding the area directly beneath him. Useless. Useless gun, useless core. He should know (she remembered with a jolt) that it wasn't going to work, because the portal device hadn't even recognized him the last time she'd tried! She fixed him with a stubborn glare.

"Look," he sighed, exasperated and uneasy. "It's right simple for you, okay. You're not the one running about, carrying ungrateful test subjects across bottomless pits, like a heavy sack of potatoes. And in case you didn't notice, I _did _just go and get myself electrocuted by _her _so that _you _could escape."

Chell felt a flicker of anger course through her. Her palms clenched and her breath quickened as she fixed him with a hard stare. What, and she hadn't risked anything herself? Nothing at all? It was easy as cake, for her?

He'd _never _learn. She understood that he _had_ actually sacrificed a lot for her, but it would be nice, for a change, for him to notice just how much she'd done for him. If it weren't for her, he'd have been halfway around the moon by now!

"You've got legs, haven't you?" Either he could not see her angry expression, or he was ignoring it. "And arms? You can catch yourself, if you fall. You think it's funny that I can't. I've seen the way you look at me, lady. I've got feelings, you know. I'm _not _just a metal ball."

And she wasn't just a _test subject,_ or a carrying-human!

"Ready?"

Feeling misunderstood and underappreciated, Chell stood her ground, shaking her head stubbornly.

"_No_?" Wheatley choked. "You—you're shaking your head, as in, no, you're _not _going to —?"

_Nope. _

"I see how it is. Hah—_well_. Just remember, the next time that _you _are required to jump a distance and risk potential injuries, _I _won't be there to catch you. You're on your own, mate."

She sniffed with annoyance and then turned away. She wasn't sniffing because she _cared, _of course. She didn't give a damn about what he thought of her! Why should she, when he had betrayed her, and used her, and backstabbed her, tried to kill her? He was a no good, stinking metal sphere who was an idiot and a moron and a—

"Fat lot of help _you _are."

Chell grit her teeth, and stared at the floor resolutely. Curse him for making her feel like she was the bad guy, here. It wasn't _her _fault—

The flashlight shut off as he closed his eye-shutters, letting himself drop from the management rail. She heard his panicked whispers, his grunt of pain when he hit the ground, but she refused to look him in the eye.

"_OUCH._"

She pretended she couldn't hear him. Searching for a distraction, she sought to try the door she had seen earlier.

"Oh, damn it," he swore loudly. "Ohhh, there's another one, another dent. I'll just add that to my collection, then. Could always use some more of those. That was sarcasm, by the way."

He was spinning stupidly, like a top on the ground, trying to get a good look at what she was doing. She had managed to get the exit open (thankfully it had not been locked), but beyond the doorframe was a pitch black space of nothingness. Coupled with the low, creaking and groaning sounds of the facility's metal pathways, the sight was extremely eerie.

"Hah, ohhh," said Wheatley, eyeing the door. "And I'm forgetting the irony of the situation: you haven't even succeeded in avoiding carrying me, because you're still going to have to take me with you through that door, there, with your bare hands. Proper shame the device isn't working, eh?"

He had a point. Chell shot half a glance back towards the broken gun.

"By the way, when was the last time you've washed your hands?"

The last time she—_what? _Caught by surprise, she raised her palms, just as Wheatley rotated his eye up towards her. He caught his expression, comically smug and self-satisfied (_oh, couldn't she kick him, just this once?_), she blinked in the blinding light, but by it she could see the long grease smears and general discoloration of her palms. What he was insinuating was right, she _was _filthy.

"Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know. Feel free to make full use of the handles."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she wiped her soiled hands clean on her jumpsuit bottoms. Dark colored smears appeared there, which Wheatley eyed with disgust.

"Come on, then, let's go!"

Wrapping her hands around his bottommost handle, Chell heaved the core along the catwalk and into the dark doorframe. His back bolt scraped unpleasantly across the metal with the sound of nails on a chalk board, and she dropped him, covering her ears with her hands immediately. Arrrrrgggh!

"HEY!" he shouted in annoyance. "Be _careful, _would you? I've already said, I'm not just a plastic cup. You're going to have to apply a little more strength, mate!"

Trying to decide on the best method for carrying him, Chell observed the core. The handles were probably the best, but he was heavy and cumbersome, and they stuck out at odd angles. She was going to fall straight onto her face if she wanted to carry him by those.

She'd lift him by his sides, then. That was the best way to attack the problem. She squatted, preparing to heave the ungrateful little (well, not _little_) core up into her arms, but something distracted her. A pang of unwilling sadness stabbed at her heart from the sight of the portal device, lying regretfully behind on the catwalk. She would not be able to take it with her, not unless she wanted to leave Wheatley, for carrying him alone would be difficult enough.

With a resigned sigh, she raised him from the catwalk. Better take along an idiotic, albeit useful core, rather than the broken portal gun.

It felt so _wrong _to leave it there, though. She almost dropped him instinctively, wanting to reach out reflexively for the device, but she held him still in her arms.

"Could you…" Wheatley was speaking, his voice muffled in her arms. "Okay, maybe it'd be best if you just used the designated handles. Yeah. It's probably not safe to carry me like this. You could be electrocuted."

Chell turned away from the device abruptly, striding headlong into the dark doorway. Wheatley shifted a little in her arms, his optic spinning upwards to light the corridor for her.

It was rough going. He was awkward and heavy, her head throbbed alarmingly and her back ached. He pressed right onto her stomach no matter what she did, and it hurt. He wouldn't keep still, either, his handles kept on jabbing her, poking her in the chin and making her bite her tongue. Once, she had come to a complete stop in the middle of yet another catwalk, and gave him a taste of his own medicine—a hearty jab in the eye socket.

"Hey!" he called out unhappily. "_Lady_! I don't appreciate that, you know!"

_Then quit squirming! _she wanted to tell him.

Most of the journey passed in this way. Every so often she'd stop to readjust him, and he'd complain loudly about her dirty hands, her overheated skin. It wasn't until a strip of light up ahead illuminated the corridor that they stopped 'bickering'.

Chell blinked in the bright contrast, having spent so many minutes in the dark. The sight was coming from fluorescent ceiling panels, lining an empty, vaguely familiar office space.

"Oh, here we go," said Wheatley, his eye narrowing, almost with dislike. "The turret redemption office."

The way he'd said the last three words made the hairs on the back of Chell's neck stand up. It was like he expected something bad to happen here, to _both_ of them, even though they had passed into this area of the facility before. It was supposed to be safe, wasn't it? _Her _control was limited back here.

She paused, panting a little, having carried the core so far. She stooped to deposit him onto the ground, and then crossed to an empty, cracked chair and sat down, breathing deeply.

Through the window, the redemption line could be seen. Its slow process was making an almost hypnotizing whisper, the cranking of distant gears rhythmic and oddly calming. She let her eyelids droop in spite of herself, and started, almost falling off of the chair upon realizing she was falling asleep.

Wheatley rolled along the ground towards her, getting stuck on an uneven floor tile. His optic rolled up to face her as he spoke. "All right," he said, "this is probably good enough for today. I know you're pretty tired, and maybe it _is_ best if we have a little rest. It'd give us time to decide what our, er, next course of action should be."

Chell nodded sleepily, and let a rolling sigh escape her. She was so, so tired. Closing her eyes, she listened to the sounds of the facility, and Wheatley's casing scraping against the floor as he shifted to and fro. Silently, she prayed that she'd be all right, and that wherever this 'escape' would bring them, it would somehow work out better than the previous ones had.

She was still bitter, and was probably always going to be. When they got out of here, she'd leave him to find his own way, but until then, she needed him. She had no portal device, just a core who was silly and stupid, with a knack for coming up with ridiculous, unworkable plans.

But maybe this time would be different.

While Chell snored, he watched her, an unidentifiable emotion burning deep within his optic.

They needed _each other._

* * *

"Hey."

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

"Hey, lady!"

…Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

"OI!"

Chell woke with a start.

"You all right, up there?" Wheatley asked from the ground. "You don't look very good_._"

Ignoring him, she raised her fists up to her eyes and rubbed the sleep away. Oh, she was still exhausted, and her back was sorer than _ever_. Evidently sleeping on a chair wasn't exactly the most soothing way to do it.

"It's been an hour. That's long enough, right?" he asked uncertainly. "No matter either way, because we've got to get going. I know, I said we'd be safe, back here, but what I really meant to say was safe-_er_."

Nodding in agreement, Chell convinced her jelly-legs- and- arms to pull herself off of the chair. An hour of sleep, how _refreshing…_

That was sarcasm, by the way.

Her head still hurt and her stomach was still empty, but _maybe _she felt a little better. Not by much, though.

She yawned and stretched, her eyes finally finding the sight outside of the window. The steady creak of the endlessly rotating conveyor line could still be heard over the sounds of her bones cracking, but otherwise, near-total silence dominated the office.

Until —

_Rrrrrgbllr. _

Embarrassed, Chell tried to cover her stomach with her hands and turn away from the core. Unfortunately, he was too quick for her.

"Ummhh, wh-what was _that?_"

She looked at him, blinked, and then looked away abruptly.

"That was—was that _you?_" he questioned, surprised.

_Well, my stomach, _she thought. Damn it! She didn't need him to know about her weakness! No, not weakness, human… human _needs!_ She was normal! Hunger was _normal_! Why was he staring at her like- like-

Wheatley made a sound of disbelief. "You're not serious?"

She nodded.

"Ugh. You'd better have that checked out, mate."

Her stomach rumbled again, sounding as if a toxic, irradiation-induced acid-monster was about to burst through her middle and consume the core. Wheatley yelped in shock.

_It's normal! _Chell covered her burning face with her hands. _I'm just hungry!_

He stared, and then, deciding it was probably best to just overlook it, began explaining to her what the next stage of his 'operation' should be.

"Now, don't get me wrong, I'm sure you know exactly what you're doing. I'll bet you've got an admirable idea of the inner workings of the facility, by now," he lectured, watching her from the floor as she sunk back into the chair, looking disorientated. "But let's face it, our best hope for escape lies with the idea I told you about in that cryo-chamber."

Wincing, Chell tried to muffle the sound of her stomach. Man, was she ever _starving! _She could hardly even pay attention to the core, all she could think about was food!

Uhh… but not the radioactive-and-probably-toxic kind of food she'd find around this place. No, that was definitely unappetizing.

On second thought, she'd better think about it, then!

Too bad all she could see was the image of mouth-watering, steaming hot and delicious food…

_Rrrrrbbllllllnnnnmnnmm._

"_Seriously,_" said Wheatley, distracted. "I'm not joking, mate. That's pretty disturbing. What _is_ it?"

Chell sighed, resigned to the worst.

Attempting a weird brand of sign-language, she fixed him with a determined stare. _Food. I need to eat. I'm hungry. Starving!_

"OH!" Finally the core caught on (she was beginning to think that she was going to have to _eat _him, if she wanted him to understand). "Oh… You're… You're hungry?"

She nodded vigorously. _Yes, I'm hungry, almost starving, and I have a migraine. Can we get out of here now, please? Or can you turn down the volume on your voice?  
_

"I…" he whispered, staring at her uncertainly. "And here I was, thinking you'd contracted an unusual virus. Not my fault, not when a sudden _barrage _of speech from you is completely improbable… Leave old Wheatley to guesswork, it's fine. I always enjoy a good old game of charades."

She stared, having no clue as to what charades were supposed to be.

"Oh, just never mind," he groaned impatiently. "I can't help you, all right? I haven't got any food. What do I look like to you, a potato?"

Her stomach growled even _louder _at the thought of food.

"I was _kidding!_" he exclaimed. "I'm not—just forget it, okay? You're going to have to rely on human instinct to locate a source of fuel."

_But potatoes! _Chell gestured wildly.

"I'm sorry," the core said finally. "I really am, but the only time I've ever seen anything _remotely _edible around this place was when we found that potato tree. _I _wouldn't eat them, but if you really are that desperate…"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, okay. We'll give it a shot, then, but after we hijack the turret control center."

Say _what_, now? Flabbergasted, she stood up so quickly that he actually rolled backwards a few core-lengths in fright.

"_Arrrrrgh!_ Bloody 'ell, I thought you were about to kick me, for a second, there. Reckless, honestly!"

Chell had to cover her mouth to keep from chuckling. _I've thought about it, _she might have admitted, if she had been able to.

"Right," he continued, as if nothing had happened. "Quick word about our future plans, then. We're going to hijack the turret control center, right from under _her _nose, and use it to find a turret who'll be able to show us the way out of this place!"

Uhh… _What? _She fixed him with a blank stare, utterly nonplussed.

He blinked. "…Of course we'll have to find the backup-systems, before _she _gets to us. So, another _brilliant _four part plan: one, hijack the turret control center. Two, find a turret who'll give me a map of the facility. Three, find and reprogram those old experiments down in the basement to take over _her, _and, four, escape to the surface!"

…

He vibrated with enthusiasm, but she just _stared._

If she could talk, Chell would have said, quite frankly, that she had _no idea of what to say to this rubbish. _

That was… ridiculous. Even for _him. _There was no _way—_

"I know, I know. A little optimistic, but it's do-able. We'll just have to make sure we cover our tracks, is all. Use a little stealth."

She gaped at him.

_This is suicide. _

Wheatley looked hurt. "Hey, now," he started, "don't look at me like that! It's easy enough. I'll do most of the work, and all you'll have to do is carry me around where I tell you to go. After all, I do still owe you, I haven't forgotten…" he blinked and looked away guiltily.

Chell shifted and fidgeted, fingers lining the empty spaces between the keys in a chipped, worn keyboard upon the desk. She flicked the bits of dust out to distract herself, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness spreading between them. He stared at her so hard that she could almost feel the blue optic burning into her side.

"I…" his voice was low and serious. "If-if it helps any, I'm-I'm sorry…"

She bit her tongue. She couldn't look at him. She was not ready to accept his apology, not yet. Chell flicked a loose letter key marked with an 'e' across the desk, and then stood up.

For a second, she just stood, looking down on him. He peered up at her from between his casings, looking smaller than ever before. They both knew that she held all of the power, here. It was up to her to carry him onward, to act has his rail, to take care of him, now. But it would all be of her own accord. He was in no position to force her to do such things if she didn't want to.

And she liked that.

"I think we'd better get a move on," he told her, watching her closely. "We're wasting time, here. Better get a move on, before _she _finds us back here. That could be disastrous, and you wouldn't even get any potatoes. Imagine that."

There was a hint of sarcasm evident in his tone, but she disregarded it. She stooped, moving to pick him off of the floor, but halfway between a squat and a crouch, she paused.

"Ahh," the core said, sensing the problem. "Mmm. You're, ahh, _method _of carrying me wasn't exactly working out, was it? Have you, I dunno, had any other ideas?"

She thought for a moment. He was right, she couldn't continue carrying him like that if they wanted to make it out of here, she'd have to find another way.

…What if…

"Oh, oh! Yes, brilliant! I'm glad you thought of that!"

She undid the jumpsuit top knotted firmly around her waist and tied Wheatley into it. It took a few tries, but finally, she rearranged the jumble of cloth-and-core until it served as a makeshift carrying device.

He was tied securely, the sleeves wound around his handles, his optic uncovered so that he could still guide her. She swung a loosened loop of fabric around her neck and shoulder, and while she worked he observed her from under her left arm.

"This is certainly better than before, isn't it?" he asked, chipper. She nodded in reply. "We'll be off, then! Onward, towards the turret control center!"

His genuine excitement was almost infectious. Chell found herself grinning as she exited the office, her mood not dampened by the usual creepiness of the redemption lines.

It smelled bad out here, and Chell wrinkled her nose. It was like burnt plastic and heated metal, the scent wafting in waves from the open furnaces of the incinerator. The heated particles felt disgusting on her skin, like an oily, greasy residue, covering all surfaces within the large, vaulted room.

Wheatley made a noise of encouragement, but she could hardly hear him over the sound of the redemption line. One of the tracks had a squeaky gear, and it squealed unpleasantly, making her head throb even worse with pain.

Oh, and, she had forgotten something else…

Without the portal device, how was she going to cross the redemption lines?

She glanced at Wheatley, who didn't appear to be bothered by the problem. Actually, he didn't seem to have _noticed._

"Hold on," he commented, finally looking at her, "why've we stopped?"

She pointed down into the bottomless pit, separating the platform she stood on and the closest conveyor.

"_Oh._"

She might have laughed, if the situation hadn't been so serious. Instead, she sighed with exasperation, and prepared to hoist herself up onto the railing.

"Bottomless pit," said Wheatley, and she nodded seriously. "Difficult. It's a shame we don't have a portal device, and we can't go around. There—_hah—_aren't exactly… any other ways around. Sorry."

Chell shook her head at him. No, going around was out of the question, and she had a different idea.

"Uhh, what… What exactly are you doing?" Wheatley asked from her side.

Chell had started to climb the railing.

"No, seriously, mate," he pressed. "What are you doing? Maybe you didn't hear me, before. That is a-a very-bottomless-pit, and if you should fall, we will both surely—_die._"

A few feet above her, an ancient rope and pulley system hung from a high beam. Dusty and disused, it lingered _just _out of her reach, and she had climbed the rail in hopes that she would be able to stretch towards it.

The closest bit of rope was mounted on the beam, arching all of the way across the redemption line. It looked to be in pretty good condition, she noted. At least good enough for her to use to get across!

"Oh, brilliant," Wheatley groaned sarcastically. "Oh, this is great. Marvellous. I _knew _I shouldn't have relied on you to carry me in this—thing—what is it? A smelly, neon net?—because now your suicidal, brain-damaged antics are going to kill me, too."

She gave Wheatley one last pat to the top of his handle, and finally secured the rope between her outstretched, calloused fingers. It was much thinner than she had hoped, a little spindly, actually. She wound it tightly around her arms and tugged experimentally, trying to gauge whether or not it was capable of holding both of their weight.

"A bit unfair, really, if I could be honest… _I don't want to die!_"

Satisfied with the cable's condition, Chell swallowed hard and let her eyes fall closed as she felt the steel railing slip from beneath the long-fall-boots.

"No, no, _wait, _don't—_arrrrrrrghhhhhh!_"

Chell felt the rope drop about a foot, and her eyes shot open in fear. It was almost wrenched completely out of her grasp with force as each pulley was ripped from the beam. One-by-one, they snapped, and she performed an extremely stupid-looking, complicated mid-air move, _just _managing to land feet-first onto the conveyor.

Wheatley simulated frantic gasps, and she could feel him trembling in the harness as she fought to regain her balance. "_You could have killed us!_" he choked in shock. "I… you… _oh, _do try to be a _little bit _more careful, all right? This place _is _dangerous! Lots of sharp bits to catch yourself on, pits to fall into…"

Catching her breath, Chell nodded, agreeing silently. That had been far too close for comfort.

She let the slow motion of the conveyor bring her closer to the incinerator. She was sweating again, partially from the adrenaline and also from Wheatley's added weight, which was starting to dig rather painfully into her back. It was very warm in here, too, for the heat expelled from the incinerator beat over her in harsh waves the closer she got.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she climbed onto a side-vent. The surface was a little slippery with oil, much like the rest of the walls and vents, and made her boots glide easily along its top. It was unnerving, and she moved cautiously, trying not to choke on the smell from the incinerator.

In his harness, Wheatley spoke to her, but she was not listening. "We've got real grit," he was saying, "to try to escape this place. Even if it means _one _of us is up for attempting suicidal jumps. No one else has ever dared escape, not even once, and look at us! Doing it _twice. _Yep, we truly are something, aren't we? Using our infinite amount of grit to carry out this brilliant plan of mine."

She crossed to the other side, and climbed the conveyor, ignoring the bits and pieces of broken turret headed for the incinerator. Here and there, an alive turret blinked up at her, usually mangled hideously beyond repair. A few of them emitted showers of sparks as they passed and tried uselessly to address her.

"And maybe once we've finished in the control center, we can go and find some _potatoes! _Providing, of course, that we are ahead of schedule."

_Rrrrrbbbblllrr._

"Oh, that is _weird_," Wheatley moaned, trying to shift away from Chell's stomach. "It's like it's _alive._"

Chell shuddered as her stomach howled, and tried to coax it to stop by rubbing her side. The potatoes, no matter how irradiated and raw they might be, were starting to sound more delicious than a hunk of chocolate cake.

Uhhh, nope. She couldn't keep a straight face. The potatoes sounded _disgusting, _but her stomach didn't care… It growled again.

"Sounds like your nuclear reactor core's about to explode," he laughed.

She shoved Wheatley further onto her back, away from her growling middle.

He watched her march over the countless broken turrets. "Hey," he said finally, too hyperactive to settle on watching one thing for too long, "This place does remind me of something, though. D'you want to hear a joke? Might be amusing, who knows. Could cheer you up. Worth a try!"

Sighing in annoyance, she did not respond.

"Typical." He whispered it, but she heard it. She scoffed silently. _Jerk._

"All right, then—how many crap turrets does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

_Hm, _she thought, _I have no idea._

"None," he laughed heartily, "Because they'd never even notice that the bloody thing burnt out! Blind as bats. They'd probably just assume that the light wasn't on the blink at all, and that it was a system error, or something. They wouldn't even bother. Proper useless, I tell ya. They'd never even think that someone might be having 'em on!"

Chell snorted, and Wheatley laughed along with her, convinced that she was laughing at his joke. Hah, no. Chell was just amused because he completely missed the point that _no _turret could ever screw in a light bulb. They didn't even have _hands._

So, yeah, it was pretty funny.

"Okay, that's enough," he said when she continued to chuckle. "It wasn't _that _funny. Are you having a laugh at me, now?"

But she just giggled.

"Oh, yeah." He was offended. "Kind of hard to concentrate, isn't it, when you're laughing. I'm surprised you can even laugh and walk at the same time, with the massive brain damage. I'm afraid you're going to walk straight off of the edge. Wouldn't be surprised."

He had got what he wanted. She stopped, and swatted the side of his hull.

"Whatever, _lady_."

Chell clicked her tongue impatiently, navigating a safe route through the turret bodies. Some of their eyes contained an eerie, red glow. It felt like they were watching her, and it was creeping her out.

"Don't make eye contact," Wheatley advised her.

She nodded solemnly, and jumped off of the redemption line.

The noises from the conveyor faded as she fell gracefully, landing with an earth-shaking _crash _on the catwalk below. It was a slender, small space, hardly less creepy than the redemption line above, but Chell could handle it. She only regretted her lack of protection.

Wheatley was silent. The quietness pressed on her ears like dead weights, broken only by the rustle of her jumpsuit as she walked. Navigating the Enrichment Center without the use of a portal gun was definitely something to add to her list of worst experiences inside of the facility.

_How _they were going to make it, she had no idea. It was her one weapon against the forces of Aperture, her safeguard, and her defense. Without it, she had nothing to rely on but Wheatley…

And the hope that he could hack into the control center without _her _noticing. Hah.

Or… the cooperative testing initiative finding them. Come to think of it, what if they hadn't finished by the time the robots were done whatever it was they were doing for _her?_

Maybe _she _didn't know where they were, but the robots…

How easily could _they_ find them?

Chell didn't want to think about it.


	6. Asking For Trouble

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Six - Asking For Trouble  
**

* * *

"_Target acquired._"

Chell stumbled, sudden shock washing over her at the unexpected chime. The quick steps of the long-fall-boots halted on the rusted catwalk and she paused to listen to the sound of hailing bullets. Had she walked directly into a trap?

_Thudthudthudthudthudthudthud ._

The gunfire made her cringe. It was far too loud a sound for such a small space. The cramped, narrow passageway was made of nothing but tin-like strips of metal plating, amplifying it to an almost painful degree. Out of habit, her eyes strained to peer through the gloom, half expecting a red, target-identifying laser to find its way onto her chest.

Silence seeped through the corridor, as the ricocheting bullets fell to the floor somewhere ahead. She was unarmed, but wary as she walked, skimming the eerie half-gloom that filled the place for any sign of activity. Ahead, there was no movement, no searching lasers.

"_Target acquired._"

_Thudthudthudthudthudthudthud ._

She readjusted the bulky metal lump slung heavily over her shoulder. Wheatley had become unusually still and silent at the sound of the turret's call, his eye rotating around the hallway so much like her own, peeled for any sign of movement.

Chell pressed a finger to her lips. _Shhhh._

Creeping forwards cautiously, her rough fingers lined the hem of her jumpsuit pants in nervousness. There was a corner ahead. She poked her head around it, slowly, holding her breath as she went, right finger twitching reflexively as if she still held her portal gun.

But there were no turrets, not here. Just yet another stretch of blank, gloomy hallway, running for another twenty-or-so-feet to the next corner. Chell relaxed immediately.

"Must be coming from somewhere up ahead," he suggested quietly.

Huffing in annoyance, she jabbed the core sharply in the side of his hull. His top handlebar was digging painfully into her left shoulder blade.

"Hey!"

A smile flitted briefly across her sullen face, but it was short lived. She was too weak with hunger to feel much of anything anymore.

Ahead, she could still hear the sound of turret's voices.

"_Target acquired_."

"_Alright everybody, watch this… watch and learn. Yeah, I'll show ya… clickclickclickclick uhhh… __**nope. **__I tried!_"

She let a sigh escape her.

"Crap turrets," said Wheatley informatively, just as Chell rounded the corner. "Can't hurt us by the look of it, even if they _weren't _crap turrets. Can't shoot through the bulletproof glass, and all."

Moving swiftly to the glass, she looked out past ancient grease smears and a thick layer of dust onto a familiar, shooting-gallery style room. A conveyor rotated along the base of the chamber, containing both regular and defective turrets spaced in intervals.

"_Target acquired._"

Chell watched as the turret shot towards a ragged and torn objective. It was a humanoid dummy, somehow still suspended in front of a large target, its torso frayed and bullet-riddled.

_Thudthudthudthudthudthudthud ._

Regarding the turrets cautiously, she skimmed the surrounding area for any sign of a way through. Without a portal device, simply dodging the turrets was out of the question. There had to be another way.

"_Target acquired._"

"_Locked and loaded. Clickclickclick… Umm, just wait, one more try, then… Clickclick any minute now… No? Okay, maybe next time, pal… You asked for it…_"

With the usual rustle of her jumpsuit barely audible over the sound of distant voices of the turrets, Chell made her way to the end of the hallway. There were a pair of doors, here, locked—she tried the handle—a possible way through, and it was locked.

Well, _great_.

Wheatley shifted within the harness behind her, trying to get a better look at the door. "Locked, is it?" he asked quietly, and she nodded.

"Ohh," he hummed, his optic narrowing, and he stared around the room. "Not a problem, I think, mate… I th-I _think_ there might be a way to hack it, and as far as I can tell, it'll work… But you'll have to, umm, plug me into that port, there."

At his words, one of the surrounding panels leaned forwards with a dull _scrape _and _beep. _Chell whirled around, and upon seeing the panel, cocked one eyebrow at the core. He couldn't possibly see her expression from behind, but she had no other way to vent her confusion.

_Panel… To open the door? _

**Could **he open the door?

His 'hacking' was… uhhh… well, she didn't trust it. Especially not with both _her _and the cooperative testing initiative out to get them…

"Go ahead, yeah," he simulated a chipper nod. "Just there, on the wall. Go ahead, plug me right in, and I'll open the door for us."

_Oookay…_

She carried him towards it, only stopping once she had reached the very side of the receptacle. Balancing him on her knees, she pulled him back out of the harness (a little difficult, for she had tied it tightly, and was reluctant to undo the same knots in case they needed to make a quick break away), and let the fabric fall to the floor with a soft noise.

"Oh, thank you, great," he said quickly, his voice no longer muffled but sharp and loud. Wincing a little, Chell's eyes snapped back to the opposite end of the passageway, checking that they were still alone.

The core wiggled a little in her lap, straining towards the receptacle. Chell examined it without interest—a long metal plug, ending in three prongs. Handlebar restraints, glowing red buttons, pending input—she had no idea of how Wheatley's 'hacking' worked, she was just glad it did.

It was really like he could speak in an accent outside her range of hearing.

Without warning, she heaved him onto the port. The mechanism engaged smoothly, drawing in the core without her help and she leaned back, watching him.

The restraints pinned him to the wall, and, unable to move anything an inch except for his optic, he looked up at her, blinking.

"Well, uhh," he started awkwardly. "Glad that's in working order. Now, could you just…?"

…_Yes? _she asked silently, pretty sure she knew what was coming.

He spun his faceplate a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. "Could you, ahh… turn around, please?"

Sniffing in annoyance, her boots scraped heavily against the concrete floor as she turned. A series of beeps rang out as he worked, and she could almost _hear _him twisting and spinning on the port. In front of her, the door remained firmly locked.

"Uhh… Oh. That's… not good…"

Her curiosity had got the better of her. She turned back toward him.

"_Hey!_" he protested loudly, twitching a little in surprise. "I didn't say you could turn around yet, lady! Would you just—you know what, forget it. How about you make yourself useful, yeah, and go give that door a proper push. I could use a little help on this one."

She huffed in frustration, but followed his direction, knowing fully that he was only asking for her help so that he could concentrate on the plug. _Whatever, _she mused, and wiped her sweaty hands on her jumpsuit before pushing hard against the metal door.

Behind, the core grumbled a word of thanks, and began to 'hack' again. She leaned against the door with impatience, waiting for him to finish whatever it was he had to do to get this thing open. He took _so _long, that by the time he had finally managed it, Chell had nearly face-planted straight into the ground as the door swung open, catching her off guard.

_Arrrrghhhh! _she wanted to yell, but kept silent, saving her face with her outstretched hands. She let herself fall into a sitting position, shaking and weak with hunger and shock.

She _never _falls. Never. It was a mark of how terrible she felt, that one of her hands was bleeding. Wiping it clean, she briefly closed her eyes and then stood, trying to gather herself.

The sooner they got to the room with the potatoes, the better.

With a whirr, the stick promptly ejected Wheatley, and he fell onto the floor without comment. The panel slammed shut with an echoing _bang, _startling Chell, and she moved back through the doorway to collect him.

"Well," he told the floor, "done. Didn't think I'd get it, for a moment there, but thanks. Er… A little help, over here?"

She nodded, and kneeled beside him, wrapping him back up into the harness.

"That's that," he said finally. "On to the control center, then."

Before she swung him back over her shoulder, she took a moment to do a proper stretch. Her stiff spine cracked and popped, waking her up a good deal better than anything else had so far. She was sore, aching with the effort of carrying both herself and the core slung over her back like that. It wasn't comfortable. He was heavy and rigid, and it dug into her back in the worst way.

Heaving a resigned sigh, she pulled him onto her and stepped back through the doorway. On her left, the backs of each turret, defective and functional alike, were visible. The defective ones cackled madly and demanded second chances, whereas the functional products hit their intended target with almost frightening accuracy.

_Darn things are just too good, _she thought.

At least the 'crap' ones couldn't shoot her. That was a relief.

They were almost… cute. Maybe. In a weird, deranged sort of way.

…Maybe she _was _brain damaged. She had just admitted that the turrets were sort of cute!

Chell was sure that if any other test subject had ever thought so, they were almost certainly dead. It would be like buying a tarantula, saying that it was cute and fuzzy, and then going to play with it and acting surprised when the thing bit you hard on the hand.

Ouch. _Shudder. _

But in her defense, most humans had probably never been trapped inside of sentient, murderous buildings, where everyone who talks is a robot. Not that she knew for sure. Maybe by now, on the surface (if there was one), the entire world would be completely occupied by robots!

_Not. Funny, _she growled silently, wanting to kick herself.

"All right," Wheatley was saying, "Just a word of advice, in case our, er, future plans don't go exactly according to… to plan. If you see any sign of… _her… _or those other two robots, you have my permission to _run like hell. _Oh—but make sure you don't forget to grab me, first. Heh. Wouldn't want to be… left behind."

She made no sign that she had heard him. She was starting to feel another dull ache forming in her temples, probably from lack of sleep. She yawned hugely as she walked, trying to keep her mind clear, her eyes focused despite the need for rest.

The air here weighed her down, made her feel slow and stupid. It wasn't hot, but it was filled with a bitter sort of scent, like emissions from dozens of moving, mechanical parts. It made her skin clammy and oily, the loose strands of hair coming undone from her pony stick to her face.

She entered the next chamber, the only sounds being the metallic click of her boots, and the computerized voice issuing from the turret control center.

_Template. Response._

Wheatley could not keep back a bit of a cheer. "We made it!" he exclaimed triumphantly, while Chell began to climb the staircase to the control room. "Great. Now, before we go inside, I have some things I'd like to sort out."

Her eyebrows rose in interest as she looked down at the core under her arm, hoping for information on… well, _how _they were supposed to hijack the turret line.

"Like, how we're supposed to hijack the turret line," he said, and Chell frowned. How had he known she'd been wondering exactly that? "Um… first, I should probably point out that _she _does have the ability to monitor this place, if we're not careful. So—just follow my directions to the letter, yeah, and we'll be fine."

_Provided those other robots haven't caught up to us by the time we're done, _she felt like saying.

"You're going to have to plug me into the mainframe. I'll show you where, and if anyone asks—no one should, I reckon—but if anyone asks, tell 'em you're my training partner, all right? The-the computer can't find out what we're up to. If it does, it will most certainly notify _her, _and… well, you understand," he finished lamely.

Chell gaped at him. Sure, she'd get right on that, if anyone _should _ask. With her, you know, nice and strong, loud voice.

Wheatley didn't appear to find anything wrong with what he'd just said.

"Why are you staring at me, like that?" he asked innocently.

_Oh, no reason, _she thought, and swallowed hard.

"Well then—on we go," he ushered cheerily.

Realizing that she literally had no say on the matter, mute or not, she unstuck her boots from the stair and marched along towards the control center.

Wheatley was silent as she walked. She watched the progress of the turret line below, and the computer camera's eye swivel between the template and the responding turret as it prompted each respectively.

It looked just like every other camera Chell had ever seen within the Enrichment Center. It was an oval, white-colored orb, suspended from a panel arm some feet outside a transparent window. With each prompt, the beam of light falling from its eye would change color—from translucent to yellow, and then finally, to red.

It was hard to imagine that _she _wasn't using it to watch them. It was so terribly familiar, Chell felt very reluctant to go near the thing without breaking it, first.

"Template."

There was no response from the template, for it was missing. Evidently _she _had set it to run off of memory, after the last time they had been through here.

"Response."

"_Hey there, buddy, you're about to wish you never—oh no, wait, hold on, hold onholdon…!_"

Under instruction from the computer, the plate beneath the broken turret suddenly catapulted it through the air, like a modified version of an aerial faith plate. The camera's eye followed it into the incinerator.

Chell shook herself mentally and looked away, heading towards the entrance to the control room. She ducked through the open doorway, her hand on Wheatley's side, keeping one eye on the camera in case _she _was somehow using it to spy on them.

If _she _was, Chell probably wouldn't find out until it was too late, but keeping an eye out was better than doing nothing.

"Wonderful, here we are!" Wheatley started to say. "And I see that no one has fixed the glass, since I last hacked this thing. Typical, I'm not surprised in the slightest, with the way _she _runs things back here."

Chell let out a tiny cough, hiding the ghost of a sarcastic laugh.

"Anyway, can you find a way into that room? We need to have a look at that scanner."

Carefully avoiding the remaining pieces of broken glass still lodged inside of the window frame, Chell peeked into the room.

The locking mechanism was directly on the inside of the door. She reached her hand carefully inside, fingers fumbling with the stiff latch. It was a short little lever, and slid out and upward in her grip as the lock clicked open.

"Nice one," said Wheatley as the door opened. "Okay, now, the scanner. Do you see that plug on the side, there?"

Her eyes found the hunk of machinery that made up the scanner. With each 'template' prompt from the computer, the thing would try to 'scan' thin air. On the sides of the device, there were a whole bunch of wires, but none that looked compatible with a personality core.

"Just there," Wheatley supplied unhelpfully.

But Chell was clever. She knew what she was looking for, and found it a second later.

_That one? _she meant to ask him, gesturing to a correct-looking plug on the side of the machine.

"Yes, that's the one," he informed her sharply. "Now, go and get it please, and mind that you hold on tight, because it's going to take a bit of good old, human strength to pull it out, unless I'm much mistaken."

Chell eyed the machine warily. She was going to have to time it right, then. The scanning mechanism was fast and efficient, and if she wasn't careful, was probably capable of ripping her arm off.

_Okay, _she sighed, and made to pull Wheatley free from her. He'd have to wait on the floor for this part. There was no way she was going to be able to catch the cord with him still on her.

"Good luck!" he said as she placed him down.

She ignored him, moving forwards towards the scanner, her eyes watching, waiting for the right moment—

"Tem—"

Chell poised herself to spring—

"—plate."

There was the noise of breaking safety snaps as the wire was pulled free. She almost dropped the cord in surprise, thinking that the noise was the wire itself breaking, but it didn't look to be too damaged.

She held the plug in her hand, briefly glancing at the now-motionless scanner. Evidently she had already triggered some sort of a system override mode.

_All right, let's do this, _she thought, and made to lift the core off of the ground and place him onto a nearby ledge.

"Nicely done!" he congratulated her, as she pulled the cloth harness off of him, exposing his back port. He squirmed on the platform, trying to get a good look at what she was doing. "We've got the plug, and that's something, eh! Well done. Now, just plug me in, then, and I'll hack it."

But Chell's hands suddenly shook on the cord. A feeling of foreboding rose in her at his words, and a knife-sharp memory rose to the surface of her mind—

"_Have I ever told you the qualities I love most in you?_" she could almost hear his voice, playing like a tape inside of her own head."_In order: Number one: resolving things, love the ways you resolve things. Particularly disputes. Number one, tied: Button-pushing. Two things I love about you: Button pushing and the ability to resolve things. Chiefly disputes_."

Chell swallowed hard, the plug still motionless in her right hand.

This wasn't the same as back then. She simply had to plug him in, just like any other core receptacle.

…Right?

Giving her head a little shake, she firmly decided that she was just being silly. There was no reason to be worried. Nothing bad was about to happen!

They were both on the same side now, weren't they?

Her stomach growled loudly. It didn't matter—she was either going to starve to death, or be caught by _her _if they didn't get out of here, and fast.

Holding the topmost handle of the core to steady him, she lined the plug up with the port in his backside.

"Go ahead, yeah," he reassured her.

Her hand moved forward but he twitched, shifting a little, causing her to miss the port. It jammed in the wrong way, and a static shock shot up the cord, momentarily paralyzing her arm.

"Aaaaaaarrrrrrrghhhhhhaaahhha a—_hhahaa…_"

She jerked back, shocked in more ways than one. Her hair standing on end, she massaged her sore arm and glared down at him, her eyes narrowed.

"Haha. Hem," Wheatley simulated a short cough. "Ehh—m'all right, nothing to worry about. Just startled me, is all."

Chell raised her eyebrow at him. He—he was _laughing?_

"_What?_" he demanded and she looked away, hiding her snort of amusement.

She tried again, holding him still with her free arm, but before she had gotten close enough for the plug to make contact with his port—

"Uhh…" he hummed awkwardly. "Oh. Oh, that—t-that's really… _hahahha_, oh, that! It tickles!"

Frowning, she watched him tremble with amusement. She certainly couldn't _see _any reason for this to 'tickle', but there was no mistaking it—he wiggled back and forth, trying to fight her off, giggling uncontrollably all the while.

She pulled the plug away, and waited for him to finish laughing. He stopped, coughing a little as the laughter faded, and then tried to roll himself over to look at her. "Sorry," he said, a little embarrassed. "Didn't mean for that to happen. Um… Actually, I'm not quite sure of _why _it is happening, but I'm sure it's all fine. Nothing to worry about."

He nodded for emphasis, and she stared at him, unamused.

"J-just, go ahead then," he said, wincing as best a core could.

She glared at him suspiciously, and tightened her grip on him. She was annoyed, borderlining on angry—she was trying to be _serious_ and save them, and he had the nerve to roll about, laughing like a damned fool! She had enough of it.

Without warning him, Chell jammed the plug into his port—the entire thing sparked and she released her palms automatically, her hands flying up to cover her ears, trying to blot out his yelling—

"_AAAAAAAAAARRGHHH!_"

Then, without warning, a solitary, loud beep echoed from the computer system. Wheatley's eye shutters slid closed and he ceased moving, his scream echoing a little before fading out. Outside of the window, the turret production line froze, its motors winding down with a deafening rumble.

For a second, Chell didn't understand what had happened. The lights flickered out into blackness, like the place had suffered a critical power failure, and all of the surrounding machines geared down.

The monitors beside her winked into blackness.

Wheatley remained motionless, her hand still resting atop his handle.

She shook him slightly, her eyes darting around the blackened room fearfully. Nothing happened.

Another, more persistent wobble—nothing.

Chell bit her lip. Had something happened when she had rammed the cord in, like that?

Had she—broken him?

With a rapidly pounding pulse, Chell listened with all her might for a sound, for any sort of electrical tick radiating from the core, to show that he was still online. The only audible noises were the echoes of distant machinery, coming from somewhere deep within the facility.

…The turret manufacturing wing was offline, she deduced. She was stranded.

She had no Wheatley—no escape partner—and why? What had happened? Had… Had she done this to him?

Or… had _she?_

Quivering with fear and adrenaline, Chell automatically shrunk back into the corner of the room, with eyes avoiding the dark shape of the motionless personality core. Her arm suddenly felt so very small without the heavy bulk of a portal gun. She was alone and defenseless. The seconds marched on into minutes, and still she had not moved. Around her, the Enrichment Center remained silent, holding its breath.

Then, there was a sudden rushing sound, as if all of the walls had decided to take a collective breath, all at once. It gasped, more alive than ever before, growing louder and louder every second, with the rush of starting systems and whirring gears. The production line rotated forwards with a screech, and an accompanying _bang _rocked through the control center. Chell swayed slightly where she stood.

"**Entering Sentry Core override mode**," said an unknown, male voice. "**Welcome, Sentry Core, to the Aperture Science training and turret manufacturing center.**"


	7. No Hard Feelings

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Seven - No Hard Feelings  
**

* * *

The startlingly unexpected voice had made her jump.

She scanned the empty room, trying to deduce where the noise had come from. It hadn't been Wheatley. He remained motionless upon the platform in front of her.

Then, there was quiet again. The lights turned back on, but the turret redemption line stayed still. The observant camera had frozen, its yellow beam falling onto the core.

She clutched the side of the scanner's platform for support. She was almost positive that _she _had found her, and caused the system malfunction. Expecting a hidden panel to swing forth at any second, Chell stood frozen, her heart pumping rapidly inside of her chest. Her brow was covered with sweat, and her fingers tingled with nerves.

She looked at Wheatley again. Her hands tightened, her knuckles went white, and even through her tanned exterior, color was lost in both her cheeks.

There was the lurking, breathless, ceaseless sensation that _something _was about to happen. It was as though the entire factory had become a sharpened blade, a piercing, deadly symphony of mechanics and sentience—full of watching eyes that never slept. Then, next came the constricting, overwhelming urge to _run_, because if she stood still, _she _would most certainly find her.

With breath still coming in rapid gasps, and sweat was still glazed over her tanned forehead, she swallowed hard, and rose with eyes full of silent determination. She surveyed the sight of the blank monitors, the muss of wires and receptors that twisted around the scanner in front of her, and the piercing, yellow gaze of the camera-computer through the greasy window.

And then there was Wheatley, still perched atop the scanner platform, just as lifeless and unmoving as ever. Chell blinked once, twice—staring at the end of the cord which was plugged into his port, and then in turn the few feet of cable that dangled, curling into loose coils upon the stone-cold floor.

She debated whether or not she should remove it, but eventually decided against it.

The entire wing surrounding her now whined and rattled, churning out a slow rhythm, and the sound of electricity buzzed beside her in wirey veins, hanging vines of power that fed the set of monitors. Suddenly, the faceless monitors winked, fed by the roots, displaying screens of blinding, flashing color. A diagram depicted an image of a white-and-red personality construct, with a cable plugged into its back port, much like Wheatley. White letters flashed on the screen underneath, contrasting with the vivid, blood red of the background, reading 'Core override mode'.

Every muscle was tense with expectation. The camera, with its ceaselessly staring optic, watched her. It caught her eye mercilessly, and an instantaneous, electric jolt shot through her spine, as if the camera itself had administered it. _It's her_, she thought in panic. _It's her eye. __She can see me, she__'s found—_

But the camera-computer cut her off, its tone remarkably monotonous. She had almost been expecting _her _voice.

"**To begin standard Sentry Core training and management of the turret control center, please reconfigure the automated template response requirements.**"

Chell breathed deeply, savouring the relief. She had been so sure, for one terrifying second, a paramount moment of fear. Still, the camera held her its optical prisoner, and she was unable to look away.

That was, until something else, equally unexpected, happened.

Wheatley was moving. She inhaled sharply.

He groaned quietly. "_Auuuugh. _Bloody 'ell, I wasn't expecting that to happen."

_You and me, both, _she thought, unable to keep a small smile of relief from showing on her face.

Wheatley tried to shake himself, but the cord sparked sharply and he stopped. Chell trembled, but felt much better, now that he was awake.

She wasn't alone anymore, and it was reassuring. They were both still in danger, but at least most of the fear had gone with his return.

"How are _you _doing?" he asked unsurely. He strained to see her, his optic rotating within his casing to look up at her. She nodded solemnly, her mouth open a crack, her eyes dark with lack of sleep.

Apparently her nodding was enough for him. "That's—that's in order, then," he grunted slowly.

Chell's boots scraped against the floor as she moved closer to him. _What next, _she wondered, her eyes searching around the room. He had told her they would need to find a turret, one that could help them, yet the redemption line outside remained motionless.

A dull ache throbbed through her head as she tried to think. She wanted to sleep, but that was out of the question. Part of her was still sure that the full reboot of the control center had alerted _her _to their position.

They needed to get out of here, and fast.

The doors on the other end of the room were open. She could unplug him, grab him, and go.

"**Please reconfigure the template requirements.**"

"Who's _that_," Wheatley asked, staring around. "What —?"

The camera stared, and Chell blinked up at it.

_That thing was talking to them._

"Oh," said Wheatley, sounding as though he had no idea of what it meant.

With another scrape, Chell moved forwards and jabbed him hard on the side of the hull.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding dazedly surprised. "What do you want? I'm not really in a position to decipher your—_unusual—_gestures right now, lady. Nearly _fried_, if you want to get into the specifics, but _hah, _I highly doubt that you'd find that very interesting, with the way you _rammed _that bloody thing in like that! Can't have expected much else, could I, not since —"

Chell applied a few soft pats to the side of his hull, in what she hoped was an apologetic, if not comforting sort of way. She did feel a bit sorry for him, and she hadn't _really _meant to stab him with the plug like that. She _definitely _hadn't anticipated that it would restart the entire system!

"— the procedure wasn't very risky on _your _part, was it? No, it wasn't. Didn't need to _shove _any plugs into _your _mainframe. I feel I deserve some sort of award for going through all of that and _not _having my entire sequence of resistors collectively fried. Close thing, though_._"

"**Please reconfigure —**"

Wheatley raised his optic to the camera computer.

"The template requirements, yeah, I get it! Could you just, hold on for a minute, mate? For two seconds?"

_Tap. Tap._

"_What?_"

Wheatley revolved in his casing to find Chell, less than a foot away, staring at him with a hardened expression. Her breathing had eased off, but the notable relaxation did not show on her face, which was full of confusion and downright annoyance. She silently demanded answers, tugging gently on the cord to drive the point home further—she needed to know what the heck was going _on__!_

"_Aaargh_, what did I just —" Wheatley stuttered, upset. "What did I _just _say? Could you—maybe not _touch _it? Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Ohh, and there you go, twisting it around _again__!_ I am _sorry_—is that what you want? Is that what you're looking for? An apology?"

Chell shook her head heavily, and huffed, her shoulders sagging and her nose flaring in irritation.

"_No_? I'm not very good at this _guessing game,_ lady," he complained loudly. "Look, I'm still sensing that you're a little stressed, and as high as the probability of imminent, looming death is, I don't think you should be worried quite yet, mate. _She_ still doesn't know we're back here, which is desirable, of course. Don't need _her _poking around here while we're working. You poking me is bad enough."

She sighed, and automatically removed her hand from his side. She sunk down onto the floor, collapsing into an exhausted heap of relieved but aching limbs, resting her tired and sore back against the cool wall of the factory.

_They were safe_. Well —not _safe, _but not about to be caught, either. Wheatley wasn't the most trustworthy core, yet she couldn't help but trust him right now.

"**Sentry Core, please reconfigure the template requirements.**"

"All right, okay, fine!" Wheatley grumbled, spinning back to stare at the camera. "Wait a moment, though. _What's _a Sentry Core?"

"**The Aperture Science Sentry Core is responsible for selecting manufactured turrets from defective constructs based on reconfigured template requirements. Example: Sentry Core V. 393-d87 will select turrets based on the consumer's color of choice.**"

"Ah, umm," said Wheatley, sounding as though he did not understand why anyone would want to purchase multi-colored turrets."So—so then, depending on what 'version' I am, I can select turrets based on—_anything_?"

"**As long as it is based on Science and the consumer's interest, yes.**"

"Excellent," he sighed. "That's brilliant. Exactly what we were looking for, imagine that!"

"**Please state a specific question so that we can begin.**"

"Fair enough," Wheatley replied, and then turned back to Chell. "What do you reckon we ask them?" he whispered. "Can we choose the turrets based on their knowledge of the facility? Or maybe—this might actually work—I'll ask them for the directions, and then if they can answer us, then I'll force the system to accept them! Yes, good idea, glad I thought of that!"

From behind, Chell nodded vaguely in agreement and shrugged. This was _his _idea, not hers. She had no real clue as to what he was even looking _for._

Instead, she decided that she'd keep a visual look out while he worked, just… in case.

"Except there's still one problem," he continued, not realizing that she was hardly listening. "I have no idea how we're going to get the turret off of the production line. I guess we'll just have to figure that out later…"

She nodded vaguely, watching a single turret roll forwards on the redemption line. The camera's gaze fell back onto Wheatley.

"**Sentry Core, your definition of 'specific' is slightly off,**" it stated.** "'Specific' does not mean several questions at once. Also, have you not been programmed with a single requirement?**"

"Uhh…"

Chell inhaled sharply. All they needed was for Wheatley to blow this, and for the camera to _actually _alert _her _to their position. For the thousandth time, she prayed that his programming wouldn't run as true as it had on almost every other occasion. She needed this 'idea' to be a good idea.

"**If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you are not, in fact, a Sentry Core, and that you are attempting to hijack the turret control center, whoever you are.**"

_Back off, _she thought, wanting to sign to Wheatley to tread carefully and watch what he said. All he'd need to do was to _shut up,_ for once, and pretend to know exactly what he was doing, even if he _didn't_—but was Wheatley even capable of that?

"_Not_ a Sentry Core?" he asked, his optic narrowing to a mere slit, before he spun his optic sensor in a full 360 degrees, rearranging his facial plates into a more innocent sort of expression. "And if I _wasn't_, why would I pretend to be one? If I were to try to hijack this thing, I wouldn't try to disguise myself as a _Sentry Core_. You'd be expecting that, wouldn't you?" he scoffed. "_Painfully _obvious. I'm _not_ a moron, thank you very much."

"**You have a point**," the camera replied.** "That's something I would only expect from the Intelligence Dampening Sphere.**"

Chell swallowed hard. Could the system pick up on his programming? Or was the suggestion just coincidence?

"Ha _ha_Hahhahhah," he laughed unconvincingly. "Yeah, _nope_, definitely not _that _guy. Nowhere close, mate. He hasn't got my _brains_, seriously, even ask _this_ lady right here, my biggest muscle is my, err—brain. Oh, but you know what, I've just remembered, don't ask her anything, actually, because she probably _won't even answer you_. Not unless you've got a real talent for making voiceless things talk, in which case I'd probably just keel over in shock."

Chell shifted slightly to glare at him, and out of the corner of his optic, Wheatley saw her expression. "Um," he hummed, shifting awkwardly on the platform. "Err, that _was _a little rude, wasn't it. I didn't mean to—erm, sorry about that, mate." He cleared his throat, before turning back to the control center's camera.

"Right," he sighed. "Yeah, my lady and I —"

"**The turret control template generator does not know who this 'lady' is, aside from your appointed Aperture Science Training Associate. She is present only to place the Sentry Core into the Sentry Core receptacle and monitor your progress, providing direction as needed. Now we can continue with standard monitoring —**"

"Yes, we're running on a bit of a tight schedule, and as the _Sentry Core,_ I'd really appreciate it if you'd just let me do my job —"

"**Please do not interrupt the turret control template generator. Will the Sentry Core please reconfigure the requirements, so that turret testing can continue? Also, I would like to add that I agree, we **_**are**_** on a tight schedule, and you are holding up the entire conveyor line with the ****excessive**** use of your vocal processor.**"

Beside him, Chell watched Wheatley writhe in annoyance, still silently hoping that he would not give away his _true _identity. It was more than likely that if the 'template generator' were to find out who they _really _were, _she _would be notified faster than the press of a button.

"Okay, _fine,_" he huffed. "Give me a turret to scan, then! Let's see what this thing can do. Crack on, as it were."

Chell could have sworn that she heard him mutter a string of insults under his 'breath'—something about unintelligent computers and 'complete morons being in charge'. A little funny, coming from _him…_

"**Sentry Core, please reconfigure the response requirements.**"

"Well, I'd actually like to go on a more personal opinion, rather than specific —"

"**Very well, Sentry Core,**" the computer sighed in annoyance.

"Here we go," he whispered to Chell. "And I've no idea what to say. It's not normal, I'll tell ya, because usually, I've got a-million-and-one brilliant ideas. Do you have any? No? Okay then, you may as well just have a little nap, while I work on this thing. Just sit down and have another little rest. Pity we still don't have any _potatoes_, eh? Could do with some of those right about now."

Chell just looked at him with her usual, blank stare, letting her shoulders rise and fall once in an unmistakeable shrug. _Potatoes, indeed._ She'd kill for some of those right now, irradiated or not.

She listened to Wheatley stutter stupidly to the turret on the redemption line, not having the slightest clue as to what he thought he was doing.

"Hey, could you show us the way, down to the old test shafts? We're in need of some—no? Are you sure? Absolutely positive?"

Chell curled her arms around her knees, sliding backwards against the wall. It was cold, uncomfortable, and something sharp dug into her back no matter which way she moved.

What would happen when they _did _find the right turret, she wondered. How would they be able to kidnap it, without inevitably attracting _her _attention?

The entire operation was starting to seem little more than impossible.

She shivered, hating it in here. It was so cold, it did nothing to distract her from how terrible she felt. The whole facility was an environment so empty of human kindness and warmth that it was a miracle she had survived this long by herself.

"**Response.**"

"_No, who do I look like, your tour guide? You're lucky I don't have any bullets left, buddy! Speaking of which, do you happen to have any extra, I could use a good reload—arrrrrghh, NOOO—_"

"_Ouch, _that's—wow, quite a horrific way to get rid of those defective turrets. Are you sure there isn't another way —?"

"**That is standard defective turret protocol. Please disregard any advice given by the defective turrets, to preserve standard safety requirements.**"

"Ahh, well—survival of the fittest, I suppose, then," Wheatley laughed without trace of remorse.

"**Also, I wonder whether it's practical or not to ask such long, irrelevant questions… A simple 'do you know where you are and what you were made for' should suffice and prove whether or not the turret in question has the required knowledge of the facility.**"

Seemingly unabashed by his first failed attempt, Wheatley simply growled (rather viciously) at the camera. "_I'm _the boss here, shove off. Give me the next turret."

That tone—it was the same voice that he had used during what felt like ages ago, when he had terrorized her through the maintenance areas of the Enrichment Center. It was the voice which had boomed from speaker panels mounted on the sides of giant, terrifying monitors, nearly three times her height, and just as wide. The screens placed high upon crumbling walls had displayed a brilliantly blue optic, burning with a maddening, murderous desire to kill her, and dislike so deep that it seared straight through the screen into her very heart.

With that recollection, it _all_ came flooding back. The betrayal, the elevator, the pit and the chassis —

A vocal octave, deepened with malice and danger, laced with a poisonous drop of triumph —

'_Who's the boss? Who's the __**boss**__? It's __**me**__!_'

For one petrifying moment, all she could see was _him_—his sphere fanned out, expanded until he was nearly twice his normal size, sneering at her with optic shutters half closed in a lazy enjoyment, wallowing in triumph, terrorizing his prey. It was as if he was daring her to take another step, or to make a break for it—the gigantic claw behind him reared, smashing headlong into the lift's glass, shattering it. Everything was blurred, unreal—and _he _gave a satisfied chuckle, marvelling at the horror radiating from her, as if this was some sort of sick experiment, a test of his sheer _power _and how _good_ it felt. Power over both her and the construct he had so easily forced into a potato —

Almost instinctively, Chell found herself scanning the tiny room, seeking to hide any sharp or lethal objects from Wheatley's reach. It would be easy, _too easy_, for him to betray her again, when she was so vulnerable. Weak with hunger, minus a portal gun; and she had thought it a _good _idea to plug him into the mainframe?

In front of her, Wheatley was not even looking at her. He was concentrating on the production line, solely interested in finding her the right turret, to try to help _Chell _escape, to _fix _it, as if escape could mend what he had done to her.

Without the mainframe, he was nothing but a helpless, pathetic core, and he _knew_ it. He was tiny, devoid of power or any real way to physically harm her. He had the ability to _interact_ with the system, but not control it.

He had apologized. He had sworn that he was not the same monster who had tried to kill her.

"Hey, mate."

Chell looked up at the meek voice. Wheatley focussed back on the redemption line, speaking to another turret.

"My lady friend and I are on an interesting sort of mission. D'you think you could help us out? Would be very much appreciated," he told the turret. "All we need to know is where those old test shafts are, and which one contains the backup-systems, the ones they used to use to control the facility before _she _did. Do you… have any idea? No?"

As he spoke, Chell sighed in one long, low breath. Her nose flared again, and her death grip on her knees relaxed.

"**Response.**"

"... Hello!" the functional turret called back to Wheatley, in the usual plain monotone.

Wheatley physically shook off the failure, and Chell winced. The vision that had so suddenly plagued her was still etched firmly in her exhausted and starving mind. Every inch he shifted was almost unbearably frightening, and yet, she _knew_ that he was no more capable of injuring her than a fly was.

"**Are you sure you haven't been hanging around the Intelligence Dampening Sphere?**" the system asked, when the yellow beam of the camera's optic span towards them. Chell shivered again at the unwanted glare, already feeling sweaty and edgy _without_ being observed by eyes the same color as _hers_.

"You're lucky I wasn't equipped with bullets, _buddy_, or you'd be sorry!" Wheatley gasped, more than a little offended at the suggestion. He contracted the various bits of his casing, in contrast to what he might have done if he had still been in charge of the facility—which, Chell silently admitted, had a much more terrifying and greater effect. Apparently, in his almost pathetically small-by-contrast sphere form, his response to taunts was to narrow his eye plates, and pull his handle bars inwards as if he could physically block out the words themselves. He was like a small puppy—or, like what Chell would have imagined a puppy to be—small and harmless, all bark and no bite. Only, Wheatley was a lot less fluffy.

"You really have no idea of who you're talking to, do you?" he growled, positively maddened by the camera's suggestion. "Probably a good thing, too, because if you knew exactly what kind of power I held over nobodies like you, you'd just about go catatonic! Still, though, I'm sure my friend over here would be more than happy to find _your_ power cord and give it a nice little _pull_ from me, since I unfortunately lack certain appendages capable of doing that_. She'd _be able to figure something out, though, with her nice hands, and somehow force a full system reboot, maybe even saw off a few wires if I asked her nicely—yeah, what do you think, lady? We oughta teach this camera-_thingy _a lesson or two…"

Wheatley had turned in his sphere again, glancing down towards Chell, who still held her crouched, rather uncomfortable position against the wall. She bit her lip at his stare, knowing fully well that he had expected her to be on his 'side', perhaps inches from him, glaring with fire in her eyes and prepared to punish the camera-computer.

Instead, his sight was met with a dishevelled, shrunken appearance of a woman, tired and hungry and weak. The fire and adrenaline that she had exhibited while escaping, once upon a time, had gone. What was left was this shell of a lady. She needed some food, some rest.

She was no more able to defend him than defend herself against him, should he turn evil again.

How close was he, to doing so? He had called her his friend. Did he consider her so, or was it just for show?

Was he, even now, silently plotting his revenge against her? Was all of this just a clever ruse, a plot to get back at her, to kill her, once and for all?

As much as she hated to admit it, she needed him. She needed someone, and not just to help with avoiding death traps and hacking the facility, but a real, true companion. Someone to hold her, tell her that it was going to be okay.

He could never give her that. He was a machine, who had tried to kill her. Who had saved her life, too.

She listened to him argue with the computer system. He was growing angrier, his voice increasing in both pitch and volume.

"Would you just _stop _it?" he was saying. "Let me do my job, all right? I don't need help. From _anyone_, you hear?"

_Right_, thought Chell. _Escape partners, teammates, whatever. We're stuck in this together. There's no way I can get out of this place without his help, and well, neither can he. _

_I could leave him…_

Leave Wheatley?

He definitely didn't deserve the surface. Once they both made it there, she wasn't going to take him with her. She'd leave him, she decided. That would be the end of the road for their 'team'.

She'd just have to suffer until then. And hope that _she _didn't catch them up first.

Somewhere, Chell knew that _she_ was plotting and waiting, watching for the duo. _She_ had the cooperative testing initiative, and it was only a matter of time now before they'd be after them.

It seemed that Wheatley, too, was growing anxious. His handles flexed in annoyance as he argued with the camera-computer.

"OI! I've had enough of this, you hear?" he yelled, banging his bottom handle firmly upon the platform.

With mounting frustration, he turned back to the redemption line. "Common, mate," he groaned to a turret. "Can't you just show us how to find the test shafts? This whole bloody thing is beginning to sound hopeless, if I'm honest, and I'm starting to wonder how I'll ever be able to convince my human that I'm not a worthless excuse for a robot_. _There. I said it."

"**Response.**"

"_How would I know, man? Sorry dude, but I can't help you, not unless you need someone to shoot something—__**clickclickclick**__—or, umm, forget I said that… I hope that you and your 'human' figure things out, alright?_"

"You don't—all right. Very well," he replied dejectedly.

"**I don't know **_**how**_** you'd be able to convince **_**your human**_** that you're not worthless, anyways. **_**Ahem**_**,**" the system gave a false cough, now speaking solely to Chell, **"on behalf of the entire Enrichment Center, I sincerely apologize for the behavior of this clearly broken Sentry Core.**"

"You're apologizing …?" Wheatley did not even finish his sentence, deciding instead to glower in silence for a minute before continuing. "You know, you are making my job rather hard, buddy. I think _I'm_ the one who deserves an apology!"

Wheatley rolled his optic towards the camera at its lack of response, before swivelling back to Chell. "Can you _believe _this, mate?" he whispered.

"**Are you **_**sure**_** you're an Aperture Science approved Sentry Core?**" asked the camera, watching the defective turret sail through the air towards the incinerator.** "Because **_**really**_**, you're showing a blatant disregard for all rules and regulations, and you are, what I like to call, a blithering **_**idiot**_**.**"

Wheatley cringed at the word. "_Watch who you're calling an idiot, will you_?"

"**The turret control template generator would like to remind you that I am, in fact, watching you, as I am essentially a **_**camera**_**. Also, I have compared the Sentry Core Serial Number encoded in your files with database files. I can't even find a ****match**_**, **_**that's how **_**defective **_**you are. Action must be taken immediately to rectify all of your disastrous failures by an approved Aperture Science Associate. 'Lady', please remove the defective core from the plug, and chuck him in the defective core bin, where he **_**belongs**_**.**"

"I—_what_?" Wheatley demanded, positively shaking with offense. "I am _not _defective! And it doesn't really matter, anyways, because I'm almost done here, just let me—"

"**No.**"

"Oh, come _on_. One more go, mate!" Wheatley demanded. "Just one, then you can have your damned production line back, okay, and carry on with whatever it is you lot usually get up to in here. _Proper _absurd, I'll tell ya."

The camera was silent, and Wheatley let out a long, low sigh. All of the frustration appeared to drain from his system at once. She understood, just as he did, that the template generator was about a microsecond from shutting their 'operation' down, or even worse,notifying _her_. This would be Wheatley's last try, and if he didn't make it count, well… then they'd have to come up with another plan, and _fast_.

"Right," he grumbled, avoiding Chell's eye. She looked just as sombre as ever as she watched him turn back to the production line, observing with a steady, deep breath. She was tense, her eyes peeled, ready to fly at the merest sign of danger.

"Hullo," he greeted the turret dully. "Not sure if you'd be interested, none of your so-called _friends_ have been, but no matter. My human and I could use some help. You're actually our _last_ chance, before this—ahh,what _was _it called? A template generator?—boots us out of here. Or calls the _boss_, one of the two, but neither of those options sound at all appealing, do they? So why don't you do an old pal a favour and tell us all you know about how we'd find the test shafts, and the old backup systems."

"**Response.**"

"_I'm different_."

From behind Wheatley, there was a quiet rustle of clothing as Chell stirred, lifting her head to peer past Wheatley. Her eyes had widened at the familiar voice, for she had recognized it immediately.

Gently, she patted the top of Wheatley's casing, and grazed the palm of her hand smoothly across the top of his handle.

He caught on automatically. "_D__ifferent_, are you? Well that's something! We're making a little bit of progress, aren't we? So what do you say, will you help us, mate?"

"_The answer lies beneath us._"

"Now _that's _more like it," Wheatley muttered. "Coulda told you that much myself, but it's the thought that counts, isn't it? You're _actually_ willing to help us and that's a start—"

"**Defective turrets are not to leave the redemption line, except for the permitted one-way journey into the incinerator.**"

"_Take me with you,_" the turret whispered.

"Yeah, I think I will," answered Wheatley, before turning to the computer-camera. "And _what_ exactly are you going to do to stop us, Mr-bossy-camera? Are you going to scan us to death, or something? Very frightening, mate. Really."

Sensing danger, Chell leant forward and tapped anxiously against the side of his hull.

_Don't be stupid! You never know what this place is capable of—_

Tempting fate was something Chell knew better than to do in this particular situation. It appeared that Wheatley, however, still needed to learn a few crucial lessons on the matter.

He turned in his casing at her contact, deciding to completely ignore the warning look on her face. He gave her a solitary nod, as if silently letting her not to worry and let him handle it.

"**Any personal contact with turrets is restricted to authorized personnel **_**only**_**. The turret control template generator is beginning to doubt that your human Aperture Science Associate is legit, and feels that the corruptive nature of**_** this**_** 'Sentry Core' has somehow seeped into the 'lady's' brain, resulting in unavoidable brain damage.**"

"I—well," Wheatley spluttered. "You may have gotten the brain damage part right, but that's _not_ my _fault_!" he whined, unable to stop himself. "That was _never _my fault, who'd have thought that the entire relaxation vault was going to collapse into complete meltdown? I mean, honestly, it's crazy, and I do feel sorry for what happened, but there's no use crying over spilt oil, or however the saying goes."

"**Therefore I must enforce that under no circumstances should you engage with defective turrets, Sentry Core, or else I will personally oversee your **_**own**_** trip into the incinerator.**"

"Oh, _really_? Is that what you think you're going to do? Well, _sorry buddy_, but I don't think you have the _authority _to make that kind of a decision without higher consultation. I'm not like, just a turret. I do have some rights, as a- a…"

"**Sentry Core?**"

"Yes, that."

"**You're welcome**_**, ID core**_**.**"

"_Thank_ you very much," he told the camera cluelessly, before turning back to Chell and whispering, "now, we've got quite a few things to do, and firstly, this turret…"

He was completely ignoring her frantic gestures, trying to sign to him to _shut up! _He was making everything worse, and there was nothing she could do to stop him!

"All right, this is it," he told her. "I'm going to override the response mechanism so that, hopefully, the turret will be catapulted into the control room _instead_ of the incinerator. Never mind that the glass _is _supposed to be bulletproof, because it's pretty old and I doubt that they ever actually got around to making it properly bulletproof. So, if I were you, I'd cover your eyes, yeah, when you try to catch it. So, um, catch it with one hand, then, and use the other to shield yourself, so do try to avoid the deadly shards of broken glass when it—_yes_, lady, what is it, now?"

With absolutely no time left to convince the core that she was no more capable of catching a catapulted turret in mid-air than she was able to catch _him _off of the management rail, Chell had finally grasped his attention.

It was too late, however, and the computer-camera's optic had already turned a deep, violent shade of red—and its beam was fixed directly on Wheatley.

"Oh, that's _creepy_," he groaned, noticing the change.

"**You are not an Aperture Science Sentry Core.**"

"_Are you really still going on about that_? I thought I told you—"

"**You lied. The only kind of personality constructs that do that, are **_**defective**_**.**"

"Well, sue me," Wheatley spat.

"**Very well, I will notify Central Control that you have disregarded —**"

"No, _nonono,_ don't do that!" he gasped, and Chell blanched. _No!_ "That's not a good idea, and I know a good idea when I see one! Not defective. Not a moron. And anyways, we were just about to leave. _With_ our turret. So no need to go and notify _her_. We'll be on our way!"

"**You are **_**not **_**to remove any Aperture Science property from this hall, defective **_**or **_**functional.**"

"Hey, lady, let's go —"

"**NO!**"

—_SMMMAAAASHHHH!_

Chell ducked in a nick of time, raising her hands to shield her head, just as broken glass showered the entire control center. The camera had released the catapult mechanism, but Wheatley had already 'hacked' it. The turret was slammed against the ancient glass which shattered instantaneously, and the turret landed on the cement floor with a deafening _clang._

_Well. _That said a lot about Aperture, and their so-called bulletproof glass.

There was a moment, maybe a split second, in which Chell looked at Wheatley, and then they both turned towards the sight of the turret lying motionless on the floor. Then, there was a grinding, earth shuddering vibration, just as the production line behind the now nonexistent window shuddered, caught on the 'modified' catapult.

_Why is the line stopping? _Chell wondered, still not daring to move an inch. _Did something break?_

Beside them, the monitors (which had been showing the 'Core override mode' hack) suddenly blinked with some sort of power flux. The entire wing trembled lightly.

_What did you __DO__, core?_ Chell immediately glared at Wheatley, who was still motionless atop the platform, frozen in shock. "Um," he started, looking back at the red, staring optic. "I'm not sure if —"

The rest of his sentence, however, was illegible, as at that moment the production line juddered forwards an inch or two with an extremely loud _bang _and rattle. The sound of rough, grinding gears rang out from an unseen motor, whose pistons slammed with the effort of rotating the choked mechanisms. This was accompanied by a rather alarming tremor—the entire room shook with the effort, and Chell finally understood that Wheatley's 'hack' had caused the line to jam.

A red glare hit her full in the face as the screens beside her flashed with letters, recovering from the power flux: '_Warning: turret redemption line has experienced an unexpected malfunction at [45.3222-error-error]._'

"**You have **_**both **_**done it now. I'm calling Central Control, and informing **_**her**_** about **_**you two**_**. And then, **_**she **_**will probably fire you. It's no more than you deserve.**"

"Oh, _god_," Wheatley was groaning, his optical aperture shrunken to a tiny point, flashing between the computer-camera, the production line (which was now issuing copious amounts of smoke or steam), and Chell herself. "_No, you really do __**not **__want to do that, mate…_"

Chell had had enough.

Springing forward, she pulled her jumpsuit back over him as quickly as was possible. The sooner they got out of here, the better…

Wheatley couldn't keep still. Anxious and fearful, he squirmed in protest, and Chell's hands shivered as the factory gave another almighty wobble. She was sweating again, her palms a slippery mess against the core's metal casing. What was more, she felt absolutely certain that the facility's alarming trembles would most definitely alert _**her **_to their location, no matter what the computer was about to do—

"**Too late. Dialing central control…**"

Oh, _no_.

_Wheatley, you moron, __**do**__ something!_ She thought desperately, but the little core could only spin helplessly in his casing, and writhe in her grip. She tried to tug the bloody thing _over _him, but only if he would just hold _still—_

"H-how do you _fix _this thing?" gasped Wheatley. "J-just give me a—maybe I can—o-or not, probably not—umm… Lady?"

For a brief moment, Chell's hands stilled, and her eyes found the deep, azure shape of Wheatley's cracked optic.

"I-I think we'd better get out of here. Er—_now_. It _does _seem like this place might-might explode, or something. T-tha-can't-be-good, can it…"

The chiming sound of a ringing phone rang out through the audio system, loud even over the crashing and clanking coming from the malfunctioning turret line. It reverberated around the Control Center, and Chell went pale. She scooped Wheatley bodily off of the platform in panic, tugging hard to pull the jumpsuit over his bulky form, and finally, _finally _it slid over, just as the phone rings ceased and the computer-camera emitted one last notice.

"**Warning—redemption line engine pressure is at 59%. Please remove any unauthorized equipment from the redemption line, and initiate shutdown procedures.**"

"_Hello,_" came the most _unwanted_ voice that Chell had ever heard—_her _voice._ "Hello, who—?_"

"_Oh, bollocks_," Wheatley tried to whisper, but his voice processor then ran through a series of glitches, with static briefly overwhelming him. At the same moment, the cable attached to his back port began to spark.

Chell froze, unable to see the sparks, feeling as though she were falling, as if the floor beneath her feet had disappeared altogether. Wheatley's cord started to spew an entire shower of sparks and he yelled, catching her attention, and she realized a second too late what she had forgotten—

He was screaming bloody murder, writhing in obvious pain, fighting against the restraining folds of the jumpsuit—

"_Wrrrrraaaaagggghhhh_! Pull it out, _pull it __out__!_"

_Yes, yes, of course, the plug!_

"_Who—__oh. It's YOU.__Why am I even surprised?_"

Trying to concentrate through a whine of panic and pure adrenaline, Chell reached around Wheatley and grabbed hold of the sparking adapter. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to stabilize her body against the template scanner, while the floor rocked again—and pulled at it, hard. The plug disconnected and she dropped it, still sparking, to the floor, and quickly slung the shouting and squirming core onto her back.

He panted and groaned, still feeling the aftermath of whatever surge he had been hit with from the plug.

Doing her best to console him, she reached a trembling hand backwards to pat once, twice, against his shaking hull.

"Yes…" he grumbled vaguely.

It was her version of saying, _calm down, metal ball. Let's get out of here!_ and it had a profound effect on her, too—it was reassuring to know that they both agreed, without speaking, that somehow, _they were going to get out of here before would be too late._

Unless—

"_What have you __done __to the redemption line?_"

_Her_ voice echoed around the room, loud enough to hear even over the racket coming from the jammed conveyor line. The room shook again, and the sound of crushing pistons could still be heard. Black smoke had begun to fill the air, and an acrid smell of melted plastic and singed metal made Chell choke and sputter. In pursuit of salvation, she ripped open the door, skidded into the main room, while searching wildly around amongst the rubbish for the turret.

_You better not be broken after all this! _she wanted to tell its lifeless form.

"The turret, _the turret!_" Wheatley urged her, but she was already heaving on its slender legs, trying to _breathe _while tugging it along.

"_I know you're there, even if I can't see you." _

Trying to ignore the ominous tremble in _her_ would-be perfectly synthesized voice, Chell slid the turret an inch or two across the rough, uneven ground.

It was _heavy, _and added with the weight of the sphere, it seemed nearly impossible to carry. She wiped her sweaty forehead, and then smeared her grimy hands down her jumpsuit bottoms, seeking to maintain a better grip on the turret.

"Man alive, she sounds _pissed_, doesn't she?" Wheatley whispered weakly in Chell's ear, completely oblivious to her predicament of how to carry both the turret and the core. "Come on, now, get us out of here! _Before_ she finds a way to bring this entire place down on our heads, though it does seem that we've-we've already started that _for_ her… O-oh, oh _dear_, this is _not _good…!"

His panicked rambling did nothing to soothe her. She redoubled her grip on the turret's legs and _pulled _as hard as she could. Gradually, it slid across the ground, but already the redemption line's engine was sputtering as if about to explode, and _her _voice sounded again, more menacing than ever before.

"_Are you having fun back there?_" she growled.

_She_ sounded absolutely murderous. Chell tugged harder on the unresponsive turret's legs.

"Aaaaaaaahh, umm," panted Wheatley, squirming in the harness. "_That_ depends on your _definition _of fun, actually—so-so, judging by _your _standards, maybe—but erm, no, we're not having much fun, no."

Over the intercom, she made a noise that might have been a quiet chuckle. "Hmm. I don't know what you think you're doing, destroying things that aren't even _yours_ to ruin. What did you hope to accomplish by destroying the turret redemption line? All you have succeeded in doing is proving to me that you are _both_ morons, and that I have completely underestimated your stupidity. Even after _all _we've been through together."

Choosing not to answer, Wheatley whispered as best he could into Chell's ear. "I-I know I said that she can't technically _reach _us back here, mate, but would you mind h-hurrying up a bit, i-if you could? We've buggered up the redemption line pret-ty well, by the look of things, and I'm starting to think that this entire place _could explode any second_."

She pulled the lifeless turret's body out of the control center, only halting as its hind leg snagged on the door frame. Then, panting and brushing her sticky hair out of her eyes, she pulled it over the threshold and onto the catwalk beyond, somehow managing to find the strength to haul both constructs at once. Knees weak and feeling as though she were about to pass out, Chell winced, trying to see through the haze of smoke that filled her lungs and was searing her eyes.

There was another doorframe, wide open, waiting at the end of the catwalk.

"The door! It's open! Quick!" Wheatley called out, but Chell could not hear him; the sound of the turret's metal frame being drawn over the metal grate was a deafening, clattering din, drowning out any encouragement that he had to offer her.

Even over the racket, the AI's chilling voice rang loud and clear.

"I'm getting a system warning that you've jammed the redemption line. Engine pressure is at 89%,_ do you know what that means, moron?_"

"I, no, err—I don't…"

"It means that if I don't shut down that part of the facility, it will explode, and_ you_ will explode with it_._"

"Oh, uhh, that doesn't sound very nice…"

"No, it doesn't. Especially not when I add in how much money I'd waste by having to rebuild the redemption line—money I could have saved for finding much more amusing ways to murder you. But since you have conveniently gone and trapped yourself inside of a room that's about to explode, it would be incredibly selfish of me not to let you suffer the consequences of your actions! After all, science is all about the product of reactions and discovering solutions to difficult technicalities—and you two may be the most problematic pair of—_bzzt_—**test subjects**—that this facility has ever had the displeasure of testing. Well, it was terrible knowing you. Goodbye, you two."

Exhaustion suddenly penetrated Chell's heart, and an aching, weak sensation was spreading from that point right to her very fingertips. Overcome with fatigue and over-exertion, she staggered, hardly able to keep her eyes open against the thick, blinding smog. She was so, so hungry… and so weak…

Miraculously, she staggered onwards, while carrying both constructs onto the last stretch of catwalk, and slowly, inch by inch, closer to escape.

The word acted like a stimulant in her brain—escape, food, _rest_—they were all just beyond that doorframe, lingering just out of reach.

She struggled forward, ignoring the sound of scraping metal and the intense jarring of the facility, as every motor and actuator ground to a final halt. Some part of her brain could still hear Wheatley, yelling pointlessly about the factory and urging her to move faster, to hurry—

"**Warning—redemption line engine pressure is at 98%. Please evacuate the redemption line, and initiate shutdown procedures immediately.**"

"_Oh god, OHGODRUUUUN!_"

And then, amazingly, Chell shuffled the turret over the door's threshold. She dropped it automatically, raising a trembling hand to search desperately for the handle, and then she slammed it shut with a heart-stopping, echoing crash.

Silence then flooded her tired senses. The hallway they had entered was completely quiet, apart from the sounds of the automatic locking mechanism activating, and the deep, humming vibration still spreading from the control center's depths.

She stepped backwards, away from the door, staring at it with wild eyes. She hit the cold, hard surface of a wall behind her, and her palms spread out, feeling its surface as if she were in a dream. Distantly, she felt Wheatley shift in his harness, and the accompanying quiet whirr of his movement.

It was several minutes until he spoke. "That," he finally panted, "was close."

She bobbed her jaw a fraction of an inch in agreement, still hardly daring to move. She was listening…

There was no sign of _her_, not even as the floor suddenly rocked beneath them, and the roaring, thrumming vibrations reached an almost unbearable pitch. A couple of ceiling tiles fell out, and landed, cracked and broken at her feet. Dust clouded the hallway, raining down from the ceiling, as the floor shook, settling to rest with the accumulated filth of centuries.

Nobody moved. It was dark, all around them, aside from the vague, blue glow of Wheatley's optic, smothered in fabric. The turret, still in hibernation, offered no reassurance, nor did the gentle scrape of the long-fall-boots against worn tiles as Chell shifted her footing.

"Well," he said eventually, trying to keep quiet, as though he was sure that the darkness of the hallway itself was listening. "Where to next?"

Lifeless turret in one hand, and with the core still slung heavily across her back, Chell entered the shadowy hallways of the Aperture Science daycare center. Weary to the point of exhaustion, she clung carefully to a wall as she walked, swaying and stumbling and still heaving the turret along.

_Ssssssssshhhhkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk k._

At least the almost complete, utter silence (aside from the sound of the turret's metallic hull rustling against ancient and dried debris) meant one thing:

_She_ assumed they were dead.

Chell didn't feel far from it, though.


	8. Friendly Fire

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Eight - Friendly Fire  
**

* * *

_Sssssshhhhhhhhhhhhkkkkkkkkk._

The quiet rustle and gentle scraping of metal against ancient cement tiles echoed around the otherwise silent room. A whispered breath was barely audible, sounding from the woman, whose face was blackened with soot and sweat. Her boots—two twin columns of white plastic, with a pair of metal springs embedded in the heels—made a faint scrape with each step. The sound was lost amid the rustle of debris, and the crunch of dry paper beneath her feet.

Her right hand dragged behind her body as she walked, holding onto a motionless turret's back leg with an iron-fisted grip. The other palm reached up and over her sticky face, trying to wipe away the excess moisture before she brought it back down to sling a heavy metal sphere further onto her back. She swallowed; pushing another foot forward, zigzagging her way in-between row upon row of battered desks and crippled chairs. Her dark, sharp eyes were set upon the blank space of a doorway, just on the other side of the dimly lit room.

The light played across her exhausted face from above—cracked, worn and flickering strips of fluorescent lighting, yellowed with age and dust gave the room's contents a sepia-colored hue. Her eyes were lost in shadow, giving her the appearance of a haunted, imprisoned convict, and the oily orange jumpsuit that hung loosely from her hips did nothing to ease this image. She leant forward as she walked, steadying herself with the use of her free hand along the sides of desks. Her fingerprints left shiny, clean marks behind, a trail of breadcrumbs for any curious constructs that may have been following the lonely trio.

Chell ignored the contents of the room in the same manner as usual—her eyes were set firmly upon the exit door. She gave no notice to the faint, tungsten light, emitted from an ancient overhead projector, which was displaying a new-age Aperture logo upon a moth-eaten screen. She stepped past chipped chairs, navigating her way through the maze, trying not to snag the turret's wide legs upon anything. Here and there, pressed up against the scratched and peeling walls, were even more desks, their drawers pulled open to reveal stacks of yellowed paper, bits of graphite, hunks of dried, crumbling erasers. Even more contents littered the dusty floor. These were items that had been discarded or deemed worthless by some unknown meddler, and now lay scattered askew.

None of these things caught her attention—except, amongst this debris she spied a sudden reflection of shiny metal. Instinctively, she found herself trying to shift some of the papers with her boot heel to catch a better look.

Unable to satisfy her curiosity with just her eyes, she picked it up. It was a strange contraption, one of the like which she had never seen before. It had a small, sleek and silver casing, with a cap sitting on the top end, attached only by a tiny hinge. She flicked this up with her thumb—underneath, there was a minuscule gear, with some sort of metallic emitter, or spout. It had been designed for a substance to radiate from its end.

Usually, Chell would have dropped the gadget and assumed it was worthless and dangerous, however, it didn't look it at the moment. Judging that this had at one time been a _daycare center_, Chell pocketed it without worry, wondering if it might come in useful for something later on.

_Sssssshhhhhhhhhhhhkkkkkkkkk._

Moving forwards again, she stumbled on wads of ancient paper snagging under her long-fall-boots. The paper formed a decaying mass over the broken floor tiles, hiding most of the cracks and uneven edges. Ahead, beside the door, was a broken photocopier, not that Chell knew what its purpose was—to her, it was just another bulk of useless machinery, with its once-white surface faded with age, and weathered to match the rest of the room.

For what felt like ages after the lightning-fast and blurred events in the turret control center, nobody spoke. Wheatley was silent, aside from the quiet whirr of his mechanics as he peeped anxiously about the room. Chell knew that it was only a matter of time before his self-restraint would crack, and she wasn't sure if she liked the notion or not. This place was eerie, and his would-be cheery voice might be welcome—but something about the hushed, thick silence gave her the sensation that she was being watched.

Would the cooperative testing initiative still follow them, even though _she _believed that they were dead?

As if he had read her mind, Wheatley spoke, unable to keep a slight waver out of his hushed voice.

"I don't like this place," he stated, and then retreated back into silence.

Which was just as well, because Chell wasn't particularly fond of it, either. Even after she had entered the lightless corridor containing all of the science fair posters, with their peeling letters and faded paint, the feeling did not fade.

It contrasted well with the _first _time she had entered this passage. During that escape, Wheatley had been bumbling excitedly above her, chattering on about the prospect of a successful escape. He had urged her along, with a glimmer of hope and reassurance shining from his flashlight. She had been tingling with nerves and adrenaline, brimful with confidence in both her newfound partner and her handy portal device. She had carried it high, snuggled tightly onto her right hand. The journey hadn't seemed so hard, dark and hopeless, back in those days.

And dark this room was—it was so black that Chell could not see more than a few inches in front of her. Luckily, there was still one object she had left to aid her—or rather, some_one_.

"Why've you stopped?" Wheatley asked, making Chell jump in surprise. "I can't _see_ _anything_ in this ridiculous _thing _you've gone and stuffed me in! Nothing at all. So if we're about to attempt another one of those complete _looney _suicidal jumps, please give a little fair warning, first. Just so I can prepare myself to—you know—_die._"

Chell shook her head, frowning. She ignored his protest as she grabbed him, and tugged him to the front of her body, peeling the cloth away from his optic. He glared back at her with eye shutters half-closed. Even with the shields blocking out most of the light, the blue glimmer was enough to reveal her dark features and badly smudged nose.

She tried to rearrange her expression, from the doubtful, sad look of despair into a more cheerful appearance. The blue light refracted as a twinkle in each eye, lost amid the deep darkness of each pupil. Chell could not wash the sadness and exhaustion from those eyes.

"Blimey," Wheatley whispered awkwardly, opening his optic a fraction wider as he spoke. "It's a wonder that you don't have torrents of water just _pouring_ out of you, with eyes like that! Maybe it's just a trick of my light, but they do look rather wet! Can't imagine how you can see any light through them. I mean, _I _hardly need the use of light to aid my optic sensors, but you… could use a little extra help, I suppose, couldn't you? It's okay. Just rely on old Wheatley for a light, fine by me."

He gave her a split second, in which she promptly released him, so that the beam of his optic swung back down towards the floor instead of shining straight into her face. The pool of light covered a circle two or three meters wide.

She struggled forwards again, deeper into the hall. Behind her, the turret formed a long, thick stripe through the dust—a trail of semi-cleanliness, forged within the accumulated layers of filth of decades, perhaps even centuries.

A rumble and creak of distant movement echoed through the place, rolling like thunder. Chell's eyes darted around nervously—even with Wheatley's light, the room was utterly dark. She could barely make out the smudged panels of glass to her right—and beyond that, the thin line of a disused management rail was visible as just a shadow, now with thick layers of vines and moss hanging like curtains in the gloom.

"I will say, though," Wheatley said finally, watching her. "I didn't think we'd _actually _make it out of there, much less _with_ the turret. I guess, since we're ahead of schedule, and _she's _lost track of us, we'll be able to have a little well-earned rest just up here. And _hey!_ Would you look at this, we've made it to the potato plant! So there you have it, we'll be able to err… how does that saying go?—Kill _two _birds with one stone?—How does that make any sense?" he shook himself in confusion, and Chell supressed a giggle. "You know what, I'm not even going to _ask_. Killing _one_ bird is well enough, but two with one —? Must be a proper lucky shot."

Without stopping, she nodded vaguely. It was becoming a habit—every time Wheatley would take a break from his incessantly rambling form of speech (really it was more like words tumbling over one another in a rush to get out), Chell would nod obediently. She didn't even have to _listen _to him any more if she wanted. Pause. Nod. Carry on. It worked well enough.

"Right, what was I saying?" he asked her, distracted. "Potatoes. Bloody _ancient_ potatoes, probably. Don't sound too appetizing, if I could be honest, but I've never eaten anything in my life, so I could be wrong. No taste sensors here. So, uhh, go for it. You're hungry, and here we are, as I promised. Hah! See! Wheatley _can _keep his promises. There you are. Potatoes. _Bam_."

_Sssssshhhhhhkkkkkkkkkkkk —_

"Lady."

_Kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk —_

"Lady? Oh, right. The _potato plant_. You're famished. No wonder you're not listening to me."

Chell made her silent way down the hall, which was chocked full of abandoned projects. Her eyes lingered on each one in turn, redirecting Wheatley's flashlight briefly upon them.

The graphite was worn and smudged, and the colored bits of construction paper cut-outs were faded, some missing entirely.

_Shhhhhhk. Sssssshkkk._

As for the history of these projects and their creators, Chell felt that she did not really _want _to know the details of their fate. It went without explanation that in _this _place, no child could ever have survived by themselves. The Enrichment Center was dangerous. There were no safeguards to stop an unknowing, innocent child from accidentally tripping and falling into an acid pool, or down into a bottomless pit.

Chell shivered to a halt.

"Are you all right?" Wheatley asked automatically. Chell nodded, tearing her eyes away from the third poster. Instead, she examined the 90's-style printer paper banner overhead, with ancient words etched onto it, reading: 'Aperture Laboratories—Bring Your Daughter To Work Day'.

Wheatley's light still fell upon the poster, shining against its heading. 'A Potato Battery, Not A Lemon?'. Wordlessly, she made an abrupt decision, and dropped the turret's hind leg. Its heavy body made a clanking, echoing noise, making Chell shiver again.

"What're you—?"

She did not answer, instead stepping forwards with the accompanying metallic _scrape_ from her boots and a rustle of fabric. She dusted her sticky, slimy and sweaty hands off on her jumpsuit pants, leaving even more greasy trails from the countless times that she had done this. Wheatley was simultaneously readjusted under her grip so that he was now nestled in the crook of her arm. The angle held his light steady, firmly fixed upon the potato battery.

Dry, cracked hands found the wrinkled skin of the potato, and instantly began to pull the strings of wires from around it. She dug her nails in, removing the apparatus and throwing the tiny metal prongs onto the ground, taking no notice of the resulting tinkle. As she worked, Wheatley watched, bewildered.

Not until she was finally satisfied all of the pieces of the battery had been removed did she pocket the lump of potato. Unceremoniously, she moved onto the next display, and the next, repeating the process until she found herself at the end of the hall.

The 'potato tree' loomed above her, with its tough, intertwined and poisonous-looking branches, tangled into a mass of fronds stretching skywards. Its gradual growth had pried the ceiling tiles apart, exposing the higher reaches of the Enrichment Center, as well as a waning glow of simulated daylight.

Or, she was _pretty _sure that it was simulated. Even by chance if it _was _real sunlight, there was no way for her to climbherself to freedom through that hole—_especially _not minus a portal gun.

"Giant mess this thing has made, hasn't it," Wheatley mused. "Veiny little creepers, crawling over everything. Yuck. Quite nasty, I tell ya. And poisonous looking! Maybe you'd better just forget this one, after all. How many have you managed to collect? Three? Isn't three enough?"

She tilted her chin up and down, still not removing her eyes from the mass of organic material. Finally, with another word from the core, she tore her eyes away. She made her way back to the center of the room, where the turret laid, her pocket now full of potatoes.

There it was—just as lifeless and unblinking as it had been when she had left it. Carefully, Chell bent down and knelt beside it, grasped one of its side panels firmly within her hands and _heaved_.

It slid back into its usual upright position, but its blank eye still stared straight ahead, unlit and unmoving.

Chell exhaled, sighing forcefully through her nose, momentarily making her nostrils flare in frustration.

Wheatley had heard her.

"What is it?" he asked promptly. "Could you take this _thing _off? So that I can, you know, move? Properly?"

Feeling a twinge of pity for the struggling core, Chell stepped a few feet away from the turret, seeking flatter ground before removing his harness from around her neck. He wiggled slightly, unable to free himself of the cloth on his own.

She started to tug at the fabric, resting him across her knees while she worked. His inner components emitted a soft, gentle whirr and he spun his optic sensor to face her. He had become somewhat used to this procedure, and as Chell pulled, Wheatley held himself still, oblivious to their sightless observer. The turret's blank eye watched her work.

She wondered how on earth they were going to wake the turret from its sleep mode.

For now, _food _took priority. The potatoes were squishy, soggy nourishment, not very appetizing in the slightest, but still, they were _food_ (_how_ they had been preserved, she did not want to know). Chell was not really in the position to be picky. Her stomach ached with hunger, and she had half a mind to pull them from her pocket and start eating them raw and unskinned.

"_Blllllarrghh_," Wheatley gasped, free from the cloth. He gave his optic a hearty spin before he continued, relishing the freedom. "_Finally_. Glad that's sorted! Now we can concentrate on more important things, like how we're going to wake that turret up from its sleep mode. Or, umm—I almost forgot, you're starving, aren't you?" he paused just long enough to hear Chell's stomach give an almighty rumble. "Right, then. We'll start with the _potatoes. _Go ahead, mate."

She straightened, pulling the wrinkled jumpsuit back over her shoulders, and rubbed her churning stomach to soothe it.

Wheatley glanced up at the towering vegetation in the distance through half-closed eye shutters (a rather unsuccessful attempt at a threatening glare). "Not sure if there _are _any parts of that plant that you'd be able to eat, if any. You know, _besides_ the potatoes. Because to be quite honest, I really don't see any more from this angle. You shouldn't _need _any more than those three rather… pathetically small ones anyways, right? What I mean to say is—I know that _she _used to always tell you that you need to cut the carbohydrates, but… I think she was lying. You're not _fat_, per se. You're a healthy weight—maybe less than that, even."

While he spoke, Chell had been digging her hands deep in her pockets in search for the potatoes, completely oblivious to Wheatley's prattle. Otherwise, she might have noticed that his optic had deepened its blue hue, or that he was now watching her with careful intensity, as though trying unsuccessfully to read her expression.

A cool, metallic surface brushed by a finger and she paused. It was the strange device that she had found earlier, in the room with all those desks—with only a split second of hesitation, Chell pulled it back out and started examining it again.

The cap was still wide open. Chell raised it up to her eye, and sniffed. It smelled familiar. It smelled like —

Gas.

She knew that smell—the Enrichment Center was full of similar scents of mechanical by-products, like oil and grease. But this _thing_, this odd little piece of junk metal, was not like any of the other mechanisms which she had found on her journeys. It was too—_human-made_, almost personable. It was the kind of object one might carry around daily, as a possible prized possession.

It fit perfectly in the palm of her hand, and she reached her thumb up to rest along the side of the tiny, rough wheel.

Then, suddenly, an idea, a reckless, impulsive idea spurred through her exhausted mind, and she stood up, snapping back into action mode. She jogged the length of the hallway, guided by the flashlight's beam of light, relishing the freedom from Wheatley's weight. She went back to the potato-tree, and to the mess of crumbling debris that lay underneath it.

"Whoa!" Wheatley gasped, surprised by her sudden movement. "Alright, then, lady. Here's an idea, I guess: I'll just wait here, while you go give that thing a quick once-over. Just remember to report whether or not you find any _actual _potatoes. And also: if you decide to climb that thing, _do _be careful not to fall, or breakit, because it doesn't actually look that sturdy, does it? Also, keep in mind that this plant, flimsy as it is, is probably not able to hold your weight. I know I said earlier that you're not as flabby as _she _seems to think, but you do still have some nice, err—muscle mass. Yeah. Very strong, unlike that weak and pathetic-looking thing."

Chell sighed. Wheatley could be _really _unobservant sometimes. She would have thought it impossible to mistake _scavenging through hunks of rubble in search of flammable materials _for climbing a potato tree, but _hey_…

"Oh, excellent!" he called, seeing that she had returned with a couple of burnable objects clutched in her hands. "Err—what _are _you doing?"

He stopped talking as she threw the objects down on the ground in front of him, unfazed by his dramatic _coughing _as a cloud of dust was blown into his 'face'.

Then he didn't move, except to flick his optic between the pile of materials and Chell, flabbergasted.

"I-I'm sorry, lady," he said eventually. "But with all due respect, I have _no idea of what you're doing_. Unless—are you going to eat these bits of wood? Or use them as eating utensils? Is that what you're going to do? Rather crunchy looking, I must say, but whatever cranks your, err—well, you don't actually _have_ gears, but metaphorically speaking…"

He watched Chell circulate through the room once more, peeling faded and dusty pieces of paper from the science fair posters, collecting wooden crates and boxes. She threw all of this into one of two piles, not stopping until she finally seemed satisfied enough to kneel back down on the ground and fish for that _thing_ deep inside of her pocket.

"Oh, darn. You know what I've just remembered?"

Chell pulled out the instrument, holding it in one hand while she gathered a lump of crumpled paper in another. She had no idea if this was going to work, but it was worth a try. If her suspicions were correct, then she should be able to use this thing to start a fire.

And the fire could be used for cooking.

It was astute, really. A tiny gadget made to contain portable fire, available at the press of a button! It was one of the most lifesavingly brilliant things she had ever come across.

Her hands shook with hunger as she held the device, trying to decide on the best way to use it.

"I've just remembered _why_ you're not supposed to eat the leaves or the stems of the potato plant," said Wheatley, watching her. "So silly of me. Must have slipped my mind, somehow… Anyways, it shouldn't be much of a, _hah_, problem—you're not eating the stems, right? Also, you _are _going to cook the potatoes, so it should be fine…"

Chell reluctantly tore her eyes away from the metal contraption (she was now trying to figure out how to 'turn it on'), and frowned at Wheatley, fixing him with an annoyed glare.

"Don't look at me like that," he demanded, his optic plate swivelling to the side, as though trying to throw off her gaze. "You're the one who's going to cook it, not me. So if you don't do it right, it's your own fault. Just, ahh—be wary that potato plant stems, especially from _this _potato plant—probably contain enough neurotoxin to _kill you_."

_Well, that's nice. You couldn't have told me that earlier—before we completely ran out of options?_

The triumph she had felt from the discovery of a way to cook the potatoes had suddenly faded. She pulled one of the golden brown lumps from her pocket and stared at it apprehensively. Surely she had no reason to be worried? Wheatley was often over-paranoid, and could be a real _moron_ sometimes. She _was _going to cook it, and this was supposed the edible part of the plant—right?

She didn't need any more close shaves with neurotoxin than she had already had.

Vaguely, as if in a past life, she had, not so much a _memory_, but maybe an _inkling_ of what humans regularly did with these golden, pear-shaped fruits. They would be well-cooked and skinned—_that bit was tough_, she presumed, and not very good tasting. _Oh dear, that better not be the poisonous part _(she made a mental note not to eat this)—and then they would lay everything out nicely, with _real_ eating utensils.

Chell glanced down at her tarnished hands, and wiped them as best she could against her filthy jumpsuit. It made no difference whatsoever.

"Oh, it's about time you tried to clean yourself up," he laughed. She scoffed, rolling her eyes. It wasn't like it was her choice, to be constantly dirty! "Honestly, first time since we've met that I've caught you having a second thought about running around all greased up. Well, not much we can do about that _here_, lady, we haven't got any water. Pity."

_Cough, cough. _Deciding to continue with the well-practiced art of ignoring him, Chell brought the silver contraption back out. She had had enough of messing about with this thing and was ready to try it out. Firmly, she flicked the gear downwards, and it shot out a rather lot of sparks, catching her off guard.

She nearly dropped it in surprise. There was a single, bright flame, which she immediately held to a sheet of old paper. Hardly daring to breathe, she held them together until the trickle of smoke turned into a flash of fire.

Wheatley gasped, shocked, and Chell let the lighter fall to the ground with a muffled _thump_.

"Brilliant," he sighed, recovering from the shock. He flicked off his flashlight, watching her movements with a wide optic as she proceeded to light the rest of her small pile. "Fire. Why didn't I think of that?"

Chell bit her lip in concentration, now fetching the potatoes out of her pocket. Not far away, she had found a bit of hard wire, useful for poking the end into the potatoes and holding them over the fire to cook.

For a while, Wheatley watched her work in silence. She didn't let on exactly how much she was _actually _enjoying the light and warmth—she didn't feel that it was any of Wheatley's business. He certainly had no idea how _cold _she had spent the countless days, and how uncomfortable she almost always was. She was greasy, grimy and sticky, and there wasn't an available shower anywhere. Well—at least there was now a fire for her to warm up by.

She knew fire. She knew its dangers, though in this room she doubted they'd have anything to worry about. She had close calls with the substance before, memories she didn't want to remember, just as vivid as the flames dancing through the darkness.

Trying to forget, she concentrated on the warmth and light, and let it fill her with something strange—what was it, was it hope? Sadness? Relief? The flames cast a flickering, golden light across her face, lighting the dark circles under her wide eyes. Oh, what she wouldn't give for sleep right now.

The smoke from the flames unfurled, curling up above her head and across the ceiling, finally finding the opening in the panels that the potato tree had forced long ago. It dissipated, finding release within the upper areas of the Enrichment Center.

Chell marvelled at how quiet it had become. It must have been quite late, she decided, and listened to the steady sounds of sizzling potato, the irregular _crack _and _pop _from the flames. She had drawn her jumpsuit top tightly around her, and smoothed as many loose strands of hair back into her pony tail as was possible. She sat, a good deal more comfortable than she had been in a long while, her eyes watching the violent motion of the flames.

Wheatley watched this as well, looking as though he was half in some sort of a stupor. He remained completely still. Chell fought the temptation to wave bleakly at him from across the fire, to check if he was still online or not. She was simply too cozy and tired to do so. She wasn't sure if she would have even been able to lift her hands to wave if she had wanted to.

"So, what're you going to eat those things with, then?" Wheatley asked, peering through the curling smoke at Chell. "Going to just leave them on that rusty-looking ol' wire? Come to think of it, I've never even _seen _you eat anything, ever. Are you sure that—you know_—__everything_ is in proper working order? Wouldn't want you to choke, lady, so err—do be careful, eating that. It's not like I'd be able to help you, if you were to choke."

She made to sit cross-legged, resting her chin on one hand as she watched the potatoes. Wheatley had a point. What _was _she going to eat them with? Using her hands was practical, but it just didn't feel right, somehow.

"Hey," said Wheatley, trying to regain her attention. "You really like this fire stuff, don't you?"

She looked up, surprised by the question.

"I remember someone told me about it, once. Said that humans enjoy it. It _is _sort of nice, isn't it? Comfy, in a-a could be dangerous sort of way. Very warm. Do you—I-I mean, are you—do you enjoying this? I…"

Chell lifted her head to gaze at him through the smoke in confusion.

"I—just wondered, you know," he said, in a smaller voice than usual. "Because, I am. I'm—I'm glad, actually. Very glad, that you're here, with me, right now. It's—well, about time you received a little comfort, isn't it? Been running around, sweating… It's about time we did something nice like this."

Suddenly, she stood up without looking at him, and pulled the mushy, soft golden lumps of potato from the end of the wire. They were burning hot, so she used the sleeve of her top as an insulator against the heat as best she could, wincing as the hot skin scalded her fingertips.

For a while, both of them stared at the steaming, sad little lumps of potato, held in the folds of the jumpsuit.

"I'm sure it's fine," he said. "Probably tasty, if I had to guess. I don't mean to spoil your appetite. You do need to eat, being human and all, so I'll just—be quiet. Yes. But, uh, if you do ever feel the need to talk, I'm always here. Just go ahead, and give me a wave, or something, all right? Just remember that."

He blinked through the smoke at her, his optic tilted as he watched.

She sighed, shrugging her shoulders indecisively, and shoved half of a cooled potato into her mouth.

…Maybe it was lucky that she was unable to make a sound—she certainly coughed a lot, and wished that she had about two gallons of water to drink. For the potato was, well—there were a lot of things that Chell could think of, all of which might have tasted slightly less _poisonous. _Conversion Gel and toxic goo were both good places to start.

_Yuck._

And that was an understatement.

Still chewing the bit of potato, she shook herself, trying to clear the haze of exhaustion forming around her dazed mind. Then, after swallowing the remaining pieces with difficulty, she scooped the silver-lighter-contraption up from the floor, pocketed it, and then reached down to lift a very surprised Wheatley into the air by his upper handle.

Her jumpsuit rustled lightly around her hips as she walked. A few meters from the fire sat the turret, just as silent as ever. With a determined expression, she brushed the mussed, loose strands of hair from her face, and started to examine the turret.

She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for. Perhaps some kind of power switch, panel, or maybe a hidden button somewhere? If any of these things were the key, she could not find them in the fading light. Seeking help, Chell placed Wheatley back on the ground beside her.

Almost as though he had read her mind, he flicked on his flashlight with a faint _click._

"What do you think?" he whispered. She shrugged in reply. Honestly, she had no clueof where to start.

Except—

There was _one _thing that caught her attention.

Aperture had a thing for buttons, right?

"Not sure…" said Wheatley as he pondered, his optic scanning the defective turret's black casing.

Carefully, she reached out a hand and brushed her fingers over the turret's faceplate. The smooth, metallic texture was slippery and cool under her fingertips. She searched over the entire surface, looking for any kind of switch or button—

"I've never liked these things," Wheatley was saying, shivering slightly. "I dunno—it's just something about them, y'know? A look in their eye, maybe. Just plain _creepy_, if you ask me."

_That's it! _she thought, and slapped her palm to her forehead.

Her fingers slid over the cold, empty optic of the unresponsive turret. She pressed lightly, and felt the glass move inwards a little. Yes! Her theory was correct. Its eye was the power button!

She pressed it all the way, until the glass clicked into position, activating something deep inside of the turret. Its side plating shot open with a whirr and it emitted three loud tones, one after the other.

"_I'm Different!_" it called out to her as its optic was filled with a blinding, blood red. Chell removed her hand from its body, stumbling backwards and nearly tripping over Wheatley in her haste. He wailed in alarm.

"Blimey, mate! Do watch where you're putting those legs of yours!"

Miming a wordless apology, Chell cautiously crept forwards to examine the turret. Its laser was blinking, hitting her directly in the chest, but she knew that it would not shoot.

This turret was different.

_Aren't you supposed to be talking to it,_ she gestured to Wheatley.

"Oh, right," he responded, apparently having forgotten what it was he was supposed to be doing. "We'll be needing those coordinates, eh? Very well, just give me a minute or two."

She nodded seriously, and pushed him a little closer to the turret.

"_Ahem,_" he coughed. "Hello, there! And how are you on this lovely—err, night?"

The turret did not answer.

Wheatley tried again. "Not sure if you remember me or not, mate," he said, staring anywhere except for at the turret. "You sustained a rather nasty head injury during our, ahh, escape. We saved your life, actually, on the promise that you had some information for us. Would you be able to tell us—?"

He stopped, and for a minute, Chell was unsure of why. Then she realized that the turret's laser had become a solid beam of light.

The core laughed uncomfortably. "So, how 'bout it, then? Are you going to help us? We're trying to find a piece of equipment capable of taking _her _down, probably located in the old test shafts. But I've no idea of how to get there," he laughed guiltily.

Chell observed him in silence, thinking. What sort of equipment was he talking about, and if it really was capable of taking _her _down, why hadn't he mentioned it on their previous escape?

But before she could think too much about it, the turret responded.

"I can help you," it told them, "but your path is already chosen no matter what I say."

And the turret began to vibrate. Its side panels opened and closed, shifted up and then down, almost as though it was having some sort of malfunction. The gears ground against each other, producing a metallic whisper, growing louder and louder as the turret began to move uncontrollably.

_Oh, jeez! _Chell gasped, moving forwards to grasp the turret, to try to help it—

"_No!_" called Wheatley suddenly. "Don't touch it—not yet!"

_But it's breaking itself! _she wanted to tell him. Meanwhile, the grinding, whispering sounds grew ever more louder, dissolving into a deafening rush—

Below, Wheatley had frozen as if he were hacking a panel. She frowned, confused, and waved her hand in front of his eye. He didn't say anything.

What was going on?

_sssssssswwwwhhhhhrrrrr. ssssssssssss. phhhhzzzztttttt._

The entire hall was overcome with the noise, and Chell stepped backwards, instinctively covering her ears with her hands. It was like some sort of auditory code, like a defective radio signal, reminiscent of those damned radios she used to find inside of the test chambers.

Wheatley groaned in frustration. Two feet away, the turret was still moving in that repetitive, broken motion, its laser still an unblinking, steady stream of light falling from its wide eye.

_bzzzzsssswwwwt. [IDS has been recognized on network ApertureEXT342d] sppppphhhhhttt. _

_[requesting remote permission to start data share]_

Chell watched, utterly confused.

_[request granted by oracle]_

_[data collection complete. sharing data with IDS…]_

_[new software recognized. please refer to instruction manual for proper installation]_

_[exchange complete. disconnecting] ssssssswwwwwwrrrrrr._

Wheatley groaned, gradually regaining proper control of his plates. He blinked slowly, taking a minute to recover. "Ohh. Okay," he said dazedly.

"_Good luck,_" the turret called to them before re-entering sleep mode.

Chell leant down next to Wheatley, who blinked sluggishly back at her. She placed a warm hand to the top of his casing in a way that she hoped would seem comforting to the core, before peering back through the darkness at the turret.

Wheatley's flashlight had been forced off by the override, but the firelight from behind was enough for her to see the turret by. Its side plating slid closed, and its red laser beam begun to blink once more.

The metal springs of the long-fall-boots made a grinding sound as Chell stirred, still squatting beside the core. She eyed him carefully, wondering if he was all right.

What had just happened?

She fixed him with a questioning stare.

He blinked up at her. "Well," he sighed. "I've got the coordinates. Umm… actually, it's a bit more complicated than that, but nothing ol' Wheatley won't be able to figure out. It looks like the program we'll need to shut _her _off is located in a place called Test Shaft Ten, though."

_Test Shaft Ten, _she wondered to herself. Hmm.

She nodded distractedly to Wheatley, her mind full of the experiences she'd had within Test Shaft Nine. Some of them had been bad enough… And their brilliant plan was to find yet another of these, and use the condemned technology to override the main system?

Shoot.

"One step closer to freedom!" said Wheatley cheerfully. "What's your plan, then, when we finally _do _escape from this place? I know what I'm doing, I'm going to get a good detailing. You should, too, all you'd need is a bit of water, and some surfactant lubricants—or, ahh, I mean, soap. I would require some assistance, though."

Unwillingly, Chell felt her mind suddenly full of images of a nice, hot bath or shower, of scented soap and shampoo, perhaps maybe even a scrub brush…

Oh, what _wouldn't _she give for those things…

"Yeah," he nodded, "you can go and take care of yourself, first, and then we'll replace my broken components. If you could find me a new optic, maybe repair whatever it is causing that god-awful tick I sometimes have… And, hey! If you found a high enough grade tin of silicone grease, I may even consider letting you apply some to the more, ahh—desiccated joints, inside of me… That is, if you're willing, and if you'd promise to be careful when you did it."

Chell watched him speak with a slightly open mouth, hardly taking in a word of what he'd said. It was so foreign to her, she had a lot of trouble understanding, not to mention her level of exhaustion was quickly reaching a critical state.

His handles rose and fell as she looked, and she tore her exhausted eyes away from him, finally making a decision. Whatever the contents of the tenth test shaft, they would have to wait for the morning.

"Well," said Wheatley finally, "we'd better have a rest. I've got a lot of data to unscramble before we crack on tomorrow, and you look bloody knackered, lady."

She stood up abruptly, yawning, and without taking the core with her, began to walk back down the hallway.

"Hey—wait, no—where are you _going_?" Wheatley asked, as he heard the tell-tale scrape of the boot's heel.

Rubbing her eyes, she figured it had to be quite late, and she hadn't slept properly at all the previous night. It was true, though, that she never had any true inkling of what the time was, for in Aperture, time never seemed to flow in a normal, repetitive way. One day could feel like an entire week, as this one had—or it could feel as short as a few measly hours.

She heard Wheatley scrabbling against the floor tiles as she walked, trying to catch sight of her. "You—you're _leaving?_" he asked, sounding shocked. "But we haven't even decided on anything yet!"

Nearly drunk on exhaustion, Chell meandered back down the science fair hallway. Her eyes itched, her feet ached, her back had a throbbing lump from where she had been carrying Wheatley.

"But y-you—you can't leave me here!" he gasped. "You can't survive on your own! And, even better, if-if you really must know—it's quite spooky in here, isn't it? Even _with _the fire. So, um, maybe that doesn't frighten _you_, per se—but…"

_Scraaaaaaape._

"_What was that?_" he called out at the noise. Chell did not answer.

She had a plan. Keeping the firelight in sight, she had stumbled all the way back to the entrance. Wearily, perhaps more wearily than she had moved in quite a while now, her hands drifted over the old, worn cardboard surfaces of the science fair projects.

"Oh, and another thing," said Wheatley, his voice echoing a little now that she was further away. "I haven't any limbs to keep this fire going. So-so if you _do _leave, ev-eventually the fire will die, and I'll be stuck here with only the use of my flashlight. M-maybe that doesn't sound so bad, definitely a sight better than being found by _her, _which will probably happen as well, but you're forgetting that flashlights drain batteries_._ They drain batteries, which I run off of,_ and I haven't been able to pick up a functional signal from a management rail in over three miles._"

Too tired to chuckle at his paranoia, Chell examined the crinkly paper peeling from the surfaces of the projects. The cardboard had remained strong and surprisingly durable, perfect for what she had in mind.

She raised a sleepy hand, trying to decide on the best spot to start, and—_rrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiippppp_.

"_What's that sound?_" the core gasped, afraid. "O-okay, maybe I'm not making myself quite clear. It's all right—let me explain. I know I can be a little bossy, maybe even a little too facetious, at times. But I'm being _serious_—I do care about your well-being.I _do_ want to help you. Come back, please. I know you're listening_._ And, uhh, if-if you really must know, when itcomes down to it…"

Stifling another yawn, Chell tore another large chunk of cardboard from the display. Her eyes flickered unwillingly back to the fire, and then to Wheatley, who sat beside it. He was pleading with her—

_Couldn't she leave him alone for twelve seconds, without him acting like it was the end of the world?_

Frowning, Chell had thought it obvious what she had been trying to do. Her solo journey served only to find good, soft materials to sleep on, as well as _maybe _a cozy nook to rest in. She wasn't about to _leave _him, not _now_, and not _here _of all places.

She scoffed and glared in his direction. She had already made up her mind that she was continuing _with_ him, down whatever road this quest for 'Test Shaft Ten' would take them—and _yes,_ she knew that it would likely be dangerous, and at times deadly.

And if that faltering, lonely tone of voice was _anything_ to go by, _he was really convinced that she wasn't coming back for him._

"W-when it comes down to it, you know…" he stuttered, almost sobbing. "I-I… I'd miss you, okay? Happy? I said it. If you were gone, and if you left me, for good. I don't want to be here all by myself, and you—you're… I'd miss you, all right?"

Chell stopped tearing the cardboard, her eyes wide despite how tired she felt. He'd—he'd _miss _her?

"O-only in a respectable sort of way, of course," he choked, trying to laugh. "Like how one might miss an acquaintance. Yes. You're my acquaintance, does that work? My only one, really, but you're still the best. It is nice having you around, even if it's only to gawk at me like I'm a blithering idiot. Um—yes, I can be one sometimes, and I apologize."

She _almost _turned around, but she didn't. Instead, she observed one of the children's handwriting very closely, her cheeks burning.

"So it's nice, having you with me. You're the best escape-partner a bloke could ever ask for, even if I'm not. So—so thanks, for carrying me willy-nilly and all that, with your legs and arms—handy things, those."

She was flattered that he thought of her in such a way, even if she'd never admit it. But something deep within her soul stirred, a forgotten anger, a hurt too deep for time to mend.

She'd never forgive him.

Turning back to the project, she ripped another hefty piece of cardboard off of the display.

_Rrrriiiiiippp._

"Right, still not coming back," she heard him whisper. "Okay, look. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I—like you. For a human. A lot, considering. It's a pretty big compliment, coming from me."

Her eyes, so focused in the dark, saw only the progress that her calloused hands were making with the cardboard pieces. She tried to blot out his words, but she couldn't. His tone was so naked, so bare, that she felt her heart beat rising despite her iron resolve.

She hardly ever considered him to be anything more than a talkative, spherical machine, capable of a few impressive tricks. Beyond that, he was programmed to be, well… unintelligent. It was hard for her—and she would have felt _terrible _to ever admit it to him—very hard, for her to think of him as a _person_, with feelings of his own.

It was damn near impossible. He was the son of this place, a construct built within these walls. For so long, she'd hated everything about Aperture. She ran from it. Avoided it. There wasn't a single eye within this place that she could meet. Not even his.

It wasn't his fault.

Not really.

How could one feel empathetic towards artificial intelligences, when one had spent the equivalent of a lifetime running from them? They all wanted her dead, and she wasn't going to lie down and make it easier for them to kill her. She was going to fight them to the death, and that was all there was to it.

Befriending one? No.

Chell looked back at the bit of cardboard she held in her hand. _Rrrrriiiiippp._

Part of her was _glad _that he was afraid. That portion wanted him to suffer, to know what it's like when your friends leave you, betray you. She wanted him to hurt, to break down until he was no longer functional.

_Rriiippp. Scraaaape._

Wheatley was silent, probably listening for her reply. It was, quite possibly, the longest period of time that he had ever remained silent for, save for when his system had restarted.

Was he thinking, just as deeply, about what he had uttered as _she_ was?

_Best acquaintance. I don't want you to leave me. I'd miss you. I—I like you._ The words chased themselves around each other in her drained mind.

But somehow, it was all right with her that he'd miss her.

He was not a friend, not an enemy, not anymore. She would be, simply put, his helper, his escape partner, just as he was to her. They weren't even a proper team. She doubted they ever would be.

Teams work together—they are well-oiled, well-practiced operations of coordination and collaboration. Teams don't ditch each other, or stab each other in the back, and they _certainly _don't drop each other down bottomless pits.

_That's in the past_, she reminded herself.

But where could they go from here? Where was onward going to lead, anyways?

_To death, probably. _They'd be together, then—not 'til death would they part.

_Great, I'm hypothetically engaged to an idiot computer._

There was no real plan this time, not like before. They couldn't simply shut off the neurotoxin, disable the turret redemption line and march right into _her_ chamber. Chell was unarmed and vulnerable, and _she _would have learned from her mistakes.

The fact that she had disabled the portal gun was proof enough. This time, _she _would be ready for them, and Wheatley's plan was a long shot in the dark. Who was to say that these back up systems would still be operational?

She collected the bits of cardboard and returned back to Wheatley and the fire. Deciding not to stoke it, she looked at Wheatley. He looked at her.

He had taken risks for her, too, she reminded herself. She hardly ever thought of just how much he had sacrificed to bring her to where she was now.

Maybe they _could_ learn to work together as a team eventually. It was a goal to work towards, for right now they were _acquaintances_, nothing more, nothing less. Mismatched, uncoordinated team mates.

"_Y-you came back_," he said finally, unable to look at anything but her.

Kneeling beside him, she fixed him with a very serious expression.

"I-I mean, that's _good_," he stammered, his optic reduced to a bright, quivering point. He blinked twice, rotating his eye up to peer at her left shoulder. "Glad to see you survived that little escapade. Always a positive sign, that's for sure. Not that I ever seriously doubted that you'd leave. I have, err—_faith—_that we _will_ pull through, together, you and I, and—what's _this_? What have you brought back with you?"

Chell glanced back at the worn cardboard.

"What do you need _that_ for?" he asked, confused, the bouncing blue dot expanding. Even when he didn't say it, his eye gave it away—he was very happy she had returned and had been doubting it. "Bits of old science fair projects?"

She shook her head, waving it aside. It was unimportant. She had something she wanted to say to him.

_How do I_…

Fixing him with an intense stare, she ignored his stammered mess of words. He was obviously uncomfortable with what he had said aloud. Chell began to try to sign to him awkwardly, unsure of which gestures he'd be able to interpret and which ones he wouldn't.

She pointed to herself, then down the hall, shaking her head vigorously.

"What're you on about?" he asked, looking extremely confused.

She tried a different approach.

_You, and me… Team…_

She pointed to herself and then at him, respectively.

"Ahh, okay…"

_And then to the surface, _she thought as her thumb jutted skywards.

"So you're _not_ going to leave me, then?"

She shook her head, heaving a huge sigh.

"W-well that's…" he said before pausing, his voice quiet. "That's… very nice of you."

Suddenly, her hand shot out, folding around his top handle. She pulled it upwards gently, so that he would quit staring at her knees and meet her eye instead. His optic widened in alarm, but finally rested on her. Little tremors shivered through him, as though he was afraid that she was about to hit him.

Then she relaxed, sliding backwards, elbow on knee, chin in hand. She gazed at him, ocean-eyes wary and blurred with sleepiness. The other hand, which had been wrapped lazily around her long-fall-boot, shot out toward him instead, and hovered just under his faceplate.

"I…"

She waited for him to finish.

"I'm, umm, really glad that you're not going to leave me here," he finally choked. "Really glad. You—you're a reckless human, a bit frightening, sometimes, but when it comes down to it… It's times like these, when I can really see…" he looked into her eyes, and whispered, "You don't mean to hurt me, do you? You're not like the scientists were. They—didn't like me. They'd laugh at, not with, all of them. They weren't kind."

He tried to stare back down at the floor, but she wouldn't let him. She gave him a meaningful look, her palm outstretched, miming a handshake.

Could he understand this gesture?

She wanted to make a deal with him. A formal agreement, stating that they would work together as best as was possible from here on. Neither of them would leave the other, not until they made it out, and that was the end of it.

"This is a human-thing," he told her, his eye narrowing in concentration. "I don't—well—I've seen humans do this. A very, very long time ago…"

Chell shot him an encouraging smile—not a real, true smile, but something brighter than the solemnly severe expression that normally clouded her.

"A handshake," he finally deduced.

The smile brightened, and she nodded enthusiastically.

"So, we're making a deal, then?" he said slowly, peering up at her for confirmation. "A promise? That you won't leave me here, stranded? But I suppose you'd be wanting something in return, then—and as I said before, I'll take you to the surface. No matter what, all right? I'll do my best, and that's what counts."

Chell nodded in agreement.

"Okay," he squirmed, unsure of what to do next, "well—I don't really have _hands_, though, so if you'd just grab hold, then maybe that'll work?"

Meaning his bottom handle, he shifted it, but Chell narrowed her eyes. He recoiled under her scrutinizing glare.

She needed him to understand that this was a _promise_. It was a wordless contract, an important human conduct, and it was everything that both of them keep their word.

It was _his _turn to nod. "Okay," he breathed seriously. "I promise you, then."

Her hand wrapped around his handle.

"I —"

_What? _she wondered.

"Oh _bloody hell_." He almost wrenched it from her grip, suddenly unable to look at her. "I've never done this sort of thing before, and, to be honest, it _is_ a little nerve racking. Especially with you going all miss-serious on me. I'm not sure… well… It feels a little bit more official than what I'm used to, and I'm not really… Uh, if you must… Never mind, very well. We're best acquaintances, right? We'll help each other out. Might as well shake on it, then. Haha. That's what you humans would say, isn't it?"

Her forced smile turned into a true, authentic smile as he 'shook' her hand.

"Well—that's that, then."

She stood up abruptly, tearing her eyes from the core without comment. Then, she approached the dying remains of the fire and kicked the ashes, exposing the hot coals. Dark smears appeared along the scratched surface of the long-fall-boots.

Chell shrugged, unfazed.

Then, before Wheatley even knew what was happening, she had grabbed him by the handles and was carrying him bodily from the fire pit into a dark corner. She held him close to her with one arm, carrying the jagged pieces of ripped cardboard in the other.

_Ssssssssshhhhhhhkkkkkk._

"I—well," he gasped, surprised. "I see we're not—err, bothering to even use the harness anymore. Okay," he squeaked.

She placed him on the platform beneath the towering potato tree. His blue optic flickered inquisitively as she readjusted him, turning him so that he faced a shadowed corner.

Next, she laid down each bit of cardboard, piece by piece, until she had created a comfortable little mat to rest on. She sat down on this with a sigh, and then looked up at Wheatley.

"Brilliant," he said finally. "I can see much better from up here, if that's what you're asking. I still have no idea of what you're trying to do with that _stuff…_ Is this some form of hacking that I'm not aware of? Is that what we're doing? Hacking the…ground?"

She shook her head, pressing a slender finger to her lips, trying to sign for him to be quiet.

"Oh—you want silence. Right. I can do that."

Slowly, she let her eyelids droop. The silent, repetitive blinking of the turret's flashing laser and Wheatley's optic was shut out simultaneously, and Chell let out a deep, shuddering sigh. She shifted a little, fighting to pull the arms of the jumpsuit top tighter around her, and wished that she could have kept the warmth of the fire on her as she slept. At least the cardboard padding would keep out most of the chill.

"Sleep," she thought she heard Wheatley mutter from a distant land. "Oh. I see. Well—goodnight, then, love_._"

And then she knew nothing more.


	9. Pit Boss

**Target Acquired**

**Chapter Nine - Pit Boss**

* * *

Dreamless sleep is possibly the most useful of all kinds of rest when you're dead tired. Perhaps, Chell might have held dreams in high esteem if she had ever had them; but either the countless years of cryosleep had rendered her unable, or she was just _too damned tired_.

It all worked out to the same thing, though. Chell awoke—stiff, rested yet cold, and uncomfortable. The half-light played through her closed eyelids, revealing a patchwork pattern of brightness and shadows.

Her mind was clear. Everything felt better than it had in a _long_ time. Her breath came easier and she could sense a lightness growing in her heart, almost like daybreak thawing a frozen landscape. Her breath was deep, matching her slow, steady heartbeat, and her stomach still felt pleasant from last night's meal. Even the discomfort of her body, caused by spending the last seven hours sprawled across the floor, was less prominent. After all, she could deal with that. She was used to nothing _but _uncomfortable.

Without cracking open her eyelids, she lifted herself into a sitting position. Her back was stiff and swollen, sore from where the lip of a floor panel had dug into it, despite the cardboard padding. The circular area where Wheatley usually rested was especially tender, but Chell paid it no mind, relishing the freshness of the morning.

She would simply have to live with the pain that he caused her. He didn't _mean _to hurt her—he probably didn't even _know _what carrying him _did _to her_._

She pulled her legs up into her core, noting the throbbing pain that came with movement. She folded her arms over them in a giant hug, and rested her chin atop her knees. The lips of the long-fall-boots had left deep bruises along the tender flesh of her calves. She could _feel _them there, aching and raw. After spending so much time in cryosleep, the past two days had taken their toll on the delicate flesh underneath the boots.

Not that Chell cared much. She was used to _everything _hurting. All the time. _Constantly._

Dwelling on it didn't make the pain go away.

She did wish, though, that she could have had some water. That might have been nice.

Her throat seared, her mouth was dry, and her lips were cracked and swollen. It had been a while (scratch that, _well _over a while) since she had had anything to drink, and the smoke from the fire of the previous night hadn't been the most pleasant thing to inhale.

With eyelids finally fluttering open, she stretched her arms over her head, trying to ease the soreness in her spine. Her back gave a few satisfying _pops_ as it clicked into place, easing some of the tension developed from sleeping on the cold, hard ground.

The first thing she noticed about the room was that the half-light, originating from giant cracks in the ceiling, was illuminating her entire end of the hall. The other, distant doorway lay shrouded in shadow, as were the rows of ruined science fair projects.

From above, two steady beams of brightness were shining down into the room.

It was a glimmering, sparkling light, a quality of which Chell had never seen before. One of the beams fell directly onto Wheatley, who was sitting upon the platform, held steady by the roots of the potato-tree. His optic shields were closed against the light, motionless, as if he were lost in sleep as well.

The other shaft of light tumbled down to rest a few feet away from her. She watched, mesmerized, as bits of loose dust particles floated and danced in the cylinder of light, spiralling and circling like little fireflies. They swilled around, cascading down from the upper levels, to land amongst the thick dust covering the floor.

This was _sunlight, _she sighed to herself_. _There was no mistaking the quality of the light. It was not the false, fluorescent flood that lit the endless streams of test chambers, nor was it the yellowish, tungsten glow from the Enrichment Center's service areas.

Real, _true_ sunlight—for the first time in living memory, Chell had found a ray of sunlight. Strange—even for tiny columns of brightness, the contrast they held with the surrounding facility was remarkable.

Her boots scraped noisily against the floor panels as she staggered to her feet, making the first sounds of the day. Distantly, as if in some far-off part of the Enrichment Center, rang a bird's musical tones.

Chell glanced back at Wheatley, still silent and unmoving upon the platform. He was just as peaceful as ever, with his optic sensor held at a slight angle, visible just underneath his relaxed upper handle. She supposed that he had joined her in slumber, somehow—she wasn't entirely sure of how sleep could work for a personality core.

Content that he was fast asleep, she stretched out her fingertips to touch the beam of light. It was warm, borderlining on hot to the touch, much like the surfaces of the hard light bridges. Contrary to _her _warnings about _those_, Chell felt certain that the rays of sunlight would not cause any irreversible damage, such as setting her hair on fire.

For a while, she stood completely still, relishing the pleasant sensation of light on her palm. It was _nice_, especially after the coolness of the night. Satisfied that it was safe to the touch, she stepped wholly into the shaft. The sunshine warmed her chilly body, erasing all traces of goose bumps, and putting an end to her shivers. A tingle of warmth washed over her, numbing the aching pain in her legs and back, filling her up with a wholeness that she had never experienced before. Slowly, she pulled her jumpsuit top back over her head, savoring the sensation of the light's contact with her skin.

It lit her dark face, brightening its dirty features drastically. It danced along her eye lashes, still partly gummed together with sleep. She blinked slowly, her hair reflecting little listening dots of light, throwing out a gleaming symphony of dark, reddish browns, as she shifted under the glare. Her lips quivered, and then cracked into a true, radiant smile, revealing rows of remarkably straight teeth as she stretched her arms skyward.

She lifted her hands up, high over her head, and her crystal-blue eyes followed their path, marvelling at the long, slender trails of shade that her fingertips carved into the light. It was so _familiar_, and yet so strange—it was_ similar_ to the lights that she was used to, but its quality was so much more _real_, and _so much better_.

This—_no _machine could _ever _reproduce _this._

An unfamiliar sensation blossomed in the pit of her stomach—it was a buzzing, bubbling feeling, spreading from her very heart into her sunkissed fingertips. It rose, intensifying exponentially, bringing with it a sense of sheer joy. It found its way out of her throat, in a gurgled, choked murmur of genuine laughter.

"_Did you just —?_"

Chell spun mechanically on the spot, shocked—she hadn't known that he had been observing her! How long had he been watching for?

"It's quite alright," he said sluggishly, paying no mind to her look of sheer astonishment. "By all means, don't letmestop you. Continue enjoying the natural light as you please—I daresay you haven't seen it in _years_, have you? Perhaps centuries. Thumping long time, at any rate."

He blinked innocently from the platform, shifting his handles gently as he spoke, oblivious to the bit of light shining down upon his tarnished casing. She was a little—_embarrassed—_to find that he _had _been watching after all (he could certainly mimic sleep very well, she decided). Any other time, she would have been livid to find him intruding on her privacy, but she couldn't be bothered with teaching him a lesson just now—the light had left a dazed happiness about her, making her feel lazy and pleasantly lethargic.

"Hah," he laughed quietly, his optic shifting up, searching for the origin of the light. He squinted against its strength. "Funny thing, sunlight. Plants depend on it to live. Must be why this _potato tree_'s flourished so well, eh? Color me surprised that _she _hasn't found the thing and had it destroyed already."

Chell tore her eyes away from the beam of light, the glory fading slowly from her face.

"Probably the only place in the facility," he continued. "The only place where you could even _find _sunlight, these days. _She's _fixed the rest of the roof, gone and shut it right out, I don't doubt. Even _she _couldn't fix _here_, though," he nodded. "This gap's been here for as long as I can remember. I think the scientists voted for a courtyard, at some point in time—silly fellows—having an afternoon lie-in on the job, I suppose. Wouldn't have expected otherwise. Lazy. Only succeeded in creating a _proper _mess, though. Organic waste _everywhere_, just take a look!"

Blinking slowly in the light, Chell reached for the jumpsuit top which had been tossed carelessly aside in favor of the sun. She was very warm by now, and the breath of air that traced the shady hallway felt delightfully cool against her superheated skin. She would have no need for the top herself. She meant to tie the core back into the harness.

"Did you rest alright, mate?" he asked, focusing on her as she moved towards him, holding the jumpsuit aloft. "I was observing your sleeping patterns, but that got a bit dull, so I activated my _own _power-save mode. More effective way to pass the time, as watching you sleep is not _nearly_ as entertaining as it sounds. Pretty boring, actually_. _You're about as useless to talk to as a paperweight! Got me started on thinking a bit, though—at least if you can't _talk _while you're awake, you _can _still use body language, and that helps."

Wheatley nodded enthusiastically, tilting his optic up at her as she tied the jumpsuit-arms back around his frame. While she was working, she listened to his quiet prattle, marvelling at how his voice was the only sound that could be heard in the entire facility. The early-morning silence suited well with the day thus far, giving her good vibrations—it was utterly _peaceful_, coming as close to tranquillity as the halls of Aperture could ever be.

She sighed deeply, removing her hands from the core's frame to fit snugly through the loop she had tied in the fabric. Lifting him almost effortlessly, she slung him into his usual position, resting heavily on her back. Then, she turned around, prepared to take one last, sweeping glance at the empty passageway.

"So quiet, here, isn't it," Wheatley mumbled in her ear. "With turret manufacturing shut down, I reckon that there's no functional machinery for _miles._ The neurotoxin's still online, of course, hah—good thing she thinks we're _dead_, otherwise she'd probably try to do us in with _that_, next."

Ignoring the usual, frightened tremors physically associated with that word, her eyes darted around, taking in a last look at this portion of the facility. The grey light which filled the place did not quite stretch to the opposite end—the distant corners lay in shadow, as deep as the dead of night. In the middle of the room, next to one of the many cardboard displays, sat the turret, just as motionless as ever—its blinking red laser was still flashing dimly in the morning light.

A stab of pity shot through Chell. There would be no way for her to take the turret with her. She wondered what its final fate would be, for it was all too likely that it would stay locked away in this room for decades, possibly even centuries, after they were gone. This turret, the _different_ one, the one that _had _helped them—she wished that she could have given it a better future. It was definitely added to the extremely small list that she kept, hidden in her mind, of all Aperture constructs that had ever offered her genuine help.

A few feet away laid the scattered remains of their shared fire. Bits of charcoal and dusty ashes were smeared along the tiles, and burned bits of wood still lay strewn around the blackened pit. She bit her lip, regretful for the state that they were leaving the hall in. If, by chance, the cooperative testing initiative ever happened to come across this area, it would be far too easy for them to tell that, one, they were still alive, and, two, that they had gone in this direction. Despite what Wheatley believed about _her _thinking that they _were _dead, Chell knew that the Enrichment Center would still be watchful for any suspicious activity, and that the two bots would be creeping around.

It was like leaving behind a trail of footsteps a mile wide, and she didn't like it, not one bit. _Especially _notwhen she took into account that this place had eyes _everywhere._

The robots were fast, thorough, and brilliant. They'd pick up her scent better than a police dog could.

_We'll just have to be very careful_, she told herself, wincing. A thought had just occurred to her—the smoke from their small cooking fire the night before had doubtlessly reached the upper areas of the Center. She hadn't paid much attention to the large cracks in the roof until this moment. Had the smoke been sucked into the air ventilation shafts, and the pneumatic diversity system? If it had, _she _surely would know what they'd been doing.

She swallowed hard, eyeing the ceiling suspiciously. The idea of lighting a fire suddenly seemed a lot worse than it had with a rumbling, empty stomach, and a cold, tired body to boot.

"Ready to go, mate?"

She sighed heavily again, admitting defeat. There was absolutely nothing more that she could do about it just now. Whatever consequences lay ahead as a result of her actions, she would have to grit her teeth and face them in due time.

Seeking a distraction from the unwelcome notion, she began to take a short inventory, double checking the contents of her pockets—the count so far consisted of one lighter, and _zero _potatoes. Not even a crumb of food was left.

"Why don't you check if there are any more potatoes left on that _thing, _before we leave?" Wheatley asked, as if reading her mind. "But be quick about it, will you? The sooner we get a move on, the better. I don't like the silence, somehow. Bit too quiet, you know?"

As fast as lightning, Chell climbed up the crumbling poster-pedestal on which the potato-tree grew. Well-practiced, determined eyes peeped up through the branches, sharp as a hawk—she squinted, trying to avoid the bright lights. Wheatley's heavy form shifted, rolling across her back as she reached a hand into the poisonous-looking thicket. Carefully, she avoided the sharp looking ends of the spindly branches, fingers roaming in search of its fruit.

Two groups of potatoes grew upon its side. Hooking the heels of her boots firmly against the sprawling roots, she balanced herself, and reached up into the center of the cluster.

There were a total of seven, she counted as she pocketed each one—they were very small, and still a little green in places, but it would have to suffice. It was by far better than nothing! She let herself drop, and landed haphazardly back on the ground, dusting her hands clean on the sides of her pants.

"Arrrrgh," Wheatley groaned, circling his optic as if to show a physical manifestation of the vertigo he felt from her jarring landing. Could robots even _feel _dizzy, she pondered silently.

"Well," he continued, "at least you won't starve now! All ready? Got your boots on properly? Fire-starting—_thing_? All there? Ready to go?"

She nodded, glancing over her shoulder at him. She readjusted his weight with a slight _bump, _sliding him closer to her side so that she could keep an eye on him while she walked. Then, figuring that there was no more point in dawdling, she started down the remaining bit of hall, towards the adjacent corridor.

"So, these coordinates," Wheatley began eagerly, clearly excited about the prospect of another mission. "They're quite something, really! Not just _coordinates. _I shouldn't call them that. They're a program. An entire three-dimensional image system, like an interactive map! Can you believe it?"

Chell cocked an eyebrow, navigating through the knee-high grass filling the hallway without comment. _No, _she thought to herself. _How could I believe it, when I have no freaking idea of what that even __means__? What are you talking about, sphere? _

"Um, it was a bit complicated to install," he carried on, completely oblivious to his partner's confusion at his lack of explanation for fancy jargon. "Nothing I couldn't handle, of course. Ol' Wheatley can take it—no worries. Mmm, it's telling me that we are still very, _very _high up in the facility, and that we'll need to somehow find a way to get much further down." He bobbed, nodding towards the floor, as if Chell was able read his 'map' along with him. "It's going to be a trip and a half, but no matter, though, because I've outlined a clear path for us to take. Should be somewhat free of obstacles."

Chell glanced down at her right wrist. It looked so small and dainty without the usual bulk of a portal gun. She held this out before him, giving it a little wave—she had no portal device, she wanted to remind him—and certainly, wouldn't they need the use of one, to make it _all _the way to their destination unhindered and unharmed?

"Ahhh," Wheatley sighed, unfazed. "No—don't worry about that, mate. It's all been taken care of, you just lie back, and, err—well, carry me. Yeah, I'll just inform you whenever we ought to take a different direction. We'll want to evade locked doors and cameras, as well as all other possible death traps. You just let me know if you feel too tired to go on, and I'll find us a proper place to rest."

She nodded appreciatively as she rounded the corner, stopping to take a moment and let her eyes adjust to the bright light. Opposed to the greyish, gloomy half-light of the science fair project hall, which had been lit only by the beam of two measly sun-rays, _this_ hall _had hardly any roof at all. _The sun beat down in full force, shining onto a green mat of creepers and weeds, taking over what had once been a panelled floor. Broken and unused office supplies, such as ancient photocopiers and filling cabinets lined the walls, overcome by the vegetation. Slinking feelers and fronds snaked up the walls and crawled down the hall, mingling and entwining with the roots from the giant potato-tree.

The sound of a bird rang through the empty hall, blended with the buzz of insect wings and the repetitive crunch of dirt under Chell's boots. The draught was thick and warm, somehow much more _substantial _than the greasy, oil-smeared air that had hung dense and potent through the open spaces of the factory. She took a deep, slow breath, savoring the way that the air filled her up, more sustaining than any half-rotten potato could ever be.

The hallway had no distinct path cut amongst the shrubs and moss. The walls, as well as Wheatley's spoken directions were her only signs, vaguely indicating which direction to go.

"Go on," he encouraged her, misinterpreting her pause. "You don't mind a bit of dirt, do you? Never stopped you before."

Chell scowled, slightly offended, but knew that he had not meant her any harm. He must have assumed that, being human, she was genetically more accustomed to the outdoors than _he_ was.

Perhaps he was on to something—how would his chassis react to soil? Insects? Or even—water? He had never mentioned how such things could affect him, but Chell was sure that if she had asked, he would have answered her in disdainful disgust.

She could almost _hear _him telling her—_if you get dirt crammed in my CPU, I fully expect that you will be the one to pick it out, with your bare hands—or, maybe not bare, because that would be a little __weird__, dunno where those have been—_

"What're you laughing at?" Wheatley asked, darting his optic around inquisitively.

_Nothing_, she thought, shrugging automatically.

Above, the sun beat down through the hole with almost cruel force. The gap was definitely a great deal wider than it had looked from the room with the potato-tree. It stretched into an open cavern, revealing the towering reaches of the facility, layers of mangled floors, walls, and bent, rusted beams. In the distance, the tiniest glimpse of the brightest blue could be seen, and Chell's eyes widened dramatically at the sight, her heart skipping a beat.

That was _blue sky_.

_Well, at least this explains all the vegetation, _she thought to herself. This entire area did indeed open right up to the heavens.

She started to sweat. The combination of Wheatley's weight and the hot, potent rays of sun almost made Chell wish that she was back under the shade of the Enrichment Center. Her body was not used to such a heat, not after spending so long so _cold_.

For what felt like the thousandth time, she wished that she could have had some cool water to sooth her throat, and to splash over her dirty, oily face. The only comfort currently available was her forearm, which she lifted over her forehead, trying to shield her eyes from the blinding brightness.

But then, suddenly, _there was water_. She _heard_ it—it began as a faint tinkle, following alongside her path. It grew, becoming a little louder with each step, until finally, she spotted the small pool not far away. She almost walked right past it, due to it being partially concealed by the brush.

After wrestling with a rather tough fern, she stooped over it, and splashed the soothing moisture over her burning neck, face and hands, and then lowered herself to drink from the puddle.

"Oookay," Wheatley sighed from behind, at a loss for what to say. "Um… Just-just let me know, then, will you, when you're done. I don't need to witness this, as-as close friends as we are… and by _close_ I mean not-quite-friends, of course. Acquaintances, yes, yes, that's the word I'm looking for… Though, we _are_ actually pretty close to the turnoff I've been meaning to mention. It's just ahead, through _there_."

With absolutely no clue as to which direction he meant, she stood up with a face still dripping water down the front of her shirt.

"To your right," he added, ineffectively jabbing his handles, trying to gesture towards a blank stretch of wall.

She frowned, very confused.

"No, no, look _closely_," he persisted. "Behind that bunch of tall—um, grass. Do you see it? The broken panel?"

Striding forward, Chell ignored the whisper of tall weed and fern against her worn pants. Wheatley had been pointing to a cracked tile, barely visible due to the densely packed grass and fern, growing flush against the wall. It was a dark, roundish hole, no more than two feet wide, with deep cracks fanning outwards from the breach, like a spider's web.

Her first thought, even through the bright, uplifting sunshine, was that she was _not _inclined in the slightest to step inside.

Why were the ways out always the _creepiest_?

"Go on, yeah?" Wheatley encouraged. "Map says that our best bet is through that hole, there. I do hope that we fit! It'd be a sad sight, to be stopped by such a _silly_ thing—being too massive to fit through a bloody _hole, _can you imagine? 'Wheatley and the lady, the unfortunate team that did _not _succeed. Let this gaping hole mark the spot where their brave endeavors came crashing down around them, all because of unfortunate genetics and generous proportions. Lest we forget that the cake was _not _a lie.'," he chuckled.

_Oh, you cheeky little—!_

Chell elbowed the side of his hull. In hindsight, she might not have done this—it only served to make him laugh _harder. _It hurt _her_—she rubbed her elbow in annoyance, scowling.

"Sorry, only kidding, mate," Wheatley choked. "I will say, though, it's looking pretty dark in there. Mind your step, all right?"

Reluctantly, Chell crept closer, fighting her way through the clump of grass. It was a bit thicker than she had expected, and for a few moments, she struggled with a fern, ignoring Wheatley's snide comments about making bets on her loss with the surrounding bulwark. She finally succeeded in ripping a portion of it out, roots and all, and wistfully disregarded a sudden impulse to smush it right into Wheatley's stupid face in retaliation.

The inside of the thicket was a lot like being inside of a green, smelly tunnel—fronds and bits of fern criss-crossed over her head, shining a greenish hue onto her arms and face. The air in here was humid, thick with the scent of decaying plant matter. Dry leaves and deceased, decaying shrubs had formed a soil, stinking and crunching underneath her boot.

_Well, here goes nothing_, Chell sighed, and ducked into the hole.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the harsh gloom. She could tell that this was a tunnel of sorts, hardly large enough to fit both herself and Wheatley. The cramped space would certainly not allow enough room to stand in. Here, the ground was completely covered in a thick carpet of moss, into which her hands sank a good inch or two.

The path was very thin. It was lined on either side by giant, metallic pistons, some thicker than her entire body, stretching out from the backsides of the surrounding panels. There was an overwhelming scent of dampness, and little clouds of earth rose from the moss-carpet, disturbed by her scurrying hands and feet. Her eyes watered, and she sneezed violently, knocking the back of her ponytail against yet another gigantic piston hanging low overhead.

The dripping echo of water was much louder in here. Obviously, whatever stream that she had followed through the greens ran part of its course behind these panels. A little ways away, the trickle of water descended down a towering structure, probably some sort of cliff or wall.

It was very uncomfortable to crawl forward in such a small space, especially while still lugging along a rather heavy personality construct. When she had entered the tunnel, he had courteously switched on his internal flashlight, cutting a clear track through the gloom—but it did little good, as their path appeared to end abruptly, concluding in a high, solid wall a few paces ahead.

"Bit creepy in here, isn't it?" Wheatley whispered in a high tone, looped to the front of her body for ease of carrying. "It's all right, though, I'm sure. Err—nothing to be alarmed about. Just darkness. Good old, safe… yet frightening… darkness. No danger ahead—yet. Just—lack of light. And enclosed spaces. Both of which I'm sure you don't mind. You don't mind, do you? No, you're having a grand old time, I can tell."

She might have chuckled at his ridiculous, frightened rambling—if the situation hadn't been so serious. Because, at that moment, she reached the cement wall… and saw that it was _not _the end of the trail, contrary to what she had thought. To the left, part of the cement must have collapsed ages ago, leaving behind twisted, bent metal, and chunks of concrete. It was completely blocked off.

On the other side, to her right—_there was no path_, technically speaking_._

The ground just simply—dropped. Into. _Nothing._

Well, that was _comforting_.

_Not_.

"Right," said Wheatley with a nervous quaver. "We, err—we're going to have to _jump_, actually. Shame that I didn't mention it before. Sorry about that, but it doesn't sound very _nice_, does it? 'Yeah, climb into this hole here. It ends in a not-bottomless pit. Not bottomless, but I don't exactly know what's at the bottom, either'. You'd have to have been _mad _to fall for that!"

Chell grimaced. If she hadn't been stuck inside such a cramped space, she would have been shaking her fist at him.

"Yeah, I don't like it either," he said, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm not even going to _pretend_ that I do. If you _must_ know, heights are _not _something that I-I'm very fond of. Rather the opposite, actually, with being a sphere and all, and not having any limbs to catch myself with. Jumping off of the management rail is-is bad enough, and—_ugh_—this is a g-good deal f-further. It's a loooong way down, and-and I-I do hope that those boots are in p-proper working order, for _both_ of our sakes. Because otherwise—well, it was nice knowing you, m-mate."

He made a loud swallowing sound. Chell huffed, shaking her head in disbelief. Of _course _the boots worked. Or else, she would have long since been a pancake, smeared across one of _her _more brutal test chambers.

_Don't think about that_, she told herself.

Cautiously, she crept forward, peering over the edge into the void. Whatever surface it was that she was kneeling on—cement, covered by a thick layer of moss, it felt like—had crumbled away here, giving way into the _pit of blackness._

If there _was_ a bottom down there, she could not see it, not even with Wheatley's flashlight aimed into the abyss.

She'd just have to trust there was, then.

"_Oh, oh, god, that's—that's quite far down, isn't it._"

Swallowing hard, she clung onto his sphere, pressing him further into her chest. She attempted a very awkward kind of rolling crouch, trying to sit herself on the ledge of the pit. It was very difficult to do this in such a small space.

"O-okay, maybe j-just _forget _what I said," Wheatley stammered. "M-maybe there's another way around. Maybe I can—OHGOD!"

She had slid herself forward, legs dangling over the void. Fully prepared to take the leap of faith, she froze as he _screamed_ _bloody murder_.

More than a little angry, she automatically pressed her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the echo reverberating around the cramped space—but either her movement, or, more likely, _his _deafening yell, had _disturbed __something._

The flurry of movement caught her off guard, and she slipped, her free hand scrabbling at the cement ledge a second too late—and fell down, down into the blackness.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA —"

He was screaming and _screaming_—but this time, Chell had an inkling of _why—_the movement which had frightened him into his fit, and _her _into her fall, had been caused, by the _love of all things_—a bird taking flight.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

It let out an ear-splitting _screech_, rivalling only Wheatley's yell. Chell wanted to cry from the sheer racket. It had dove from some hidden ledge, where it must have sat, camouflaged, watching them in the darkness. Now, it was plunging after them with break-neck speed, soaring down into the depths of the facility.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

Wheatley writhed in fright, trying to flee from the bird, still yelling all the while. It was only feet behind them, flapping its wings menacingly.

In an attempt to hold him still, Chell pulled him tightly into her chest with one arm. She flailed, trying to flip herself right-way-up, wanting to close her eyes against the whirlwind of color. Whenever they _did _reach the bottom, if, indeed, there _was _one—it was essential that she land properly, on the soles of the long-fall-boots, or risk _certain death._

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

_Stop yelling and hold still, will you, you pathetic little hunk of metal—_

The wind was a deafening roar, whistling in her ears. It was becoming increasingly chilly, sharp in contrast with the warmth of the surface draught, and her eyes were streaming, her hair loose from its pony, whipping across her face, and —

"—AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

_You're going to get us __**killed**__ —_

_**SPPPPLLLLAAAAAASH!**_

"_Ohh, bloody_ _**brilliant**_," Wheatley groaned.

Chell staggered—the abrupt landing had caught her off guard. She was _soaked. _Literally sopping—drenched to the _bone_, dripping in mud and muck. A stinking sludge of foul water, and god-only-knows what else, clung to every inch of her. She spat out a mouthful, trying not to throw up—_dropped _Wheatley (pity that he was still attached to her side via the harness)—coughed and raised her hands, trying to clear sand out of her eyes.

"Who'd have thought—giant puddle at the end of the jump. Figures," Wheatley chuckled, obviously amused.

_She could have punched him._

Grinding her teeth loudly, she winced as the flecks of sand inside her mouth were mulched together. They coated her tongue and the roof of her mouth.

She didn't punch him, but it was a close thing.

Chell unstuck her boots from the mud with a nasty _squelch._

Oh, she'd get him for this, if it was the _last _thing she did.


	10. A Party Of Three

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Ten - A Party Of Three  
**

* * *

The puddle was only about knee-deep on Chell, once the water that had sloshed out onto its banks had trickled back in. Yet, she was utterly _soaked _from head to foot, and so was the cloth covering Wheatley. He seemed to be fine, though, all things considered—she shook him, just to make sure. ('_Hey!_' he yelled in confusion).

So he had survived the tidal wave, had he?

Judging by his lack of comments about the pond, Chell determined that water must not pose a very dangerous threat to his internal hardware. _Aperture technology remains safely operational in up to 4000 degrees kelvin, _said an unholy voice in her head (a voice that sounded suspiciously like _her_). She shook herself, unwillingly taking notice of the many droplets of water that rained down from her sopping hair, showering the surface of the pool. Tiny beads of light flickered across it, glinting blue in the glare radiating from Wheatley's optic. It sort of reminded her of firelight.

It triggered another memory. Test chamber nineteen, the scaffold, the fire. All of these images were forced into her mind with crude strength, and the dark world around her vanished momentarily. Everything was the smell of toxic smoke and acid, the vibration of the platform beneath her legs.

She cowered in the dark, her heart beating rapidly inside of her chest.

Without sight to distract her, the memory was so strong that she was almost sure that the dampness surrounding her feet was deadly, steaming acid, about to corrode the plastic boots and eat clean through her legs—

But, even as dark as the room was, it was lit enough for her to see _some _things once her eyes adjusted, whether by Wheatley's optic or from shafts of pale light falling from above, she was not sure. The sight was harsh, jagged; and yet she felt the light calm her, for it contrasted the contents of the memory better than anything else could.

_No more testing_, she thought, taking a deep, steadying breath. _No more acid pits, or deadly lasers, no more unstationary scaffolds sliding into fire pits. Could do with some hard light bridges, though—man, is it ever dark in here! _

She scanned the high walls, trying to squint, hoping to catch a glimpse of something familiar. This place had to be on the complete opposite side of the facility from the testing tracks. If she hadn't known, she wouldn't even have guessed that she was still inside of Aperture.

_Good news, I guess, I'm alive, and so is Wheatley. Wet and cold, but a little water's better than the deadly alternative… _

_You all right?_ she asked silently, bumping the core sharply against her hip. She wanted to make sure that he really _was _okay before continuing on what would surely be a long, hard trek in the dark while drenched and filthy. Initially, she had been more than a little angry that he had guided her down into a foul, stinking culvert, but now that she had caught her breath she was sure that he honestly _hadn't _meant for it to happen. There were no more doubts in her mind if he was sincere—if he _said _he was sorry, then… he was sorry. Plain and simple.

He didn't even need to say it this time. Sacrifices had to be made if they wanted to get to their nearly impossible destination.

Seeking to reassure him (even _she _found the dark down here slightly creepy), Chell shook him gently, pressing him further into the crook of her arm. "M'all right," he mumbled in reply, rotating his optical plate further into her side, as if trying to bury himself wholly into her warmth. "I was just a little startled, is all. It's all fine."

Satisfied with his response, Chell unstuck her boots from the mud with a nasty sucking sound. She stumbled, as twin waves of water sloshed automatically to fill the holes, leaving the two sandy footprints invisible under the murky liquid. She waded through the shallows over to the sloping bank, stepping carefully to avoid getting her boots caught in the thick layer of mud beneath the water.

"Disgusting, though," said Wheatley, clearly appalled by the sounds as well as the residual splashes of muddy water. "Absolutely _disgusting _down here. Should've known there'd be a giant old puddle, eh? What with those little streams and all. 'll be a job for me, then, next time: warn you of oncoming obstacles. Yes."

Wringing out her tank as best as she could, Chell climbed onto the slimy banks and tried not to slip on the slick, wet patches of grass. It was a good thing that Wheatley's flashlight was still working, for she couldn't see hardly _anything, _even _with _it. By its light, she noted that her already filthy shirt-and-jumpsuit combination had most definitely not gotten any cleanerduring the day's events, that was for sure.

Chell pursed her lips in frustration. She would not be able to drink this water anymore (which had probably been crystal-clear two nanoseconds before their crash landing), for the muddy bottom had been stirred up by the impact. It would be more productive to lick sand off of a _beach, _she mused, wishing that all this water hadn't made her feel so _thirsty._

_Why is it that whenever we come across something that could be potentially useful, it's either already ruined, or the act of getting __to__ it ruins it? _

_Damn karma. Or whatever it is. Maybe karma isn't the right word. Bad luck, really._

It was like a constant slice of delicious, chocolate cake, hovering _just _out of reach.

And with the thought of cake, her stomach gave a distinct rumble.

"Oh," said Wheatley interestedly, his optic flicking to her middle. "I thought we'd just fed you _potatoes _last night? Already needing more sustenance? So sorry, but now's not really the time to stop and eat."

She shrugged in agreement.

"Ah, well," said Wheatley, watching trails of dripping water race down the test subject's clothing. They trickled onto the ground and back into the puddle via rivets. "I would say, at least there's water down here, but I wouldn't drink that, if I were you. Quite nasty. And, it didn't even help us get any cleaner! Still smelly. Ugh," he groaned at her, and she nodded in agreement. Yes, they were, and she didn't need reminding—a hot shower was already top priority if she should ever get the chance.

"At least a bit of water isn't going to hurt me," he said finally, watching the test subject try to wring out her hair. "The engineers must have thought that maybe one day a crazy jumpsuited lady might throw herself down a not-bottomless pit with me in her arms, eh?"

The ghost of a smile flitted across her face. Shivering, she stifled a small laugh.

"On the other hand," he said, watching her, "that _bird. _Did you see where it went, by any chance?"

She had almost forgotten about the bird. Automatically, she spun around to stare back up the shaft suspiciously, but there was no sign of it anywhere.

She huffed, letting her shoulders sag heavily. The core's optic followed her glance around the cavern.

He squirmed uncomfortably, a little upset by her lack of interest. "Are you sure you didn't see it?" he asked seriously. "Unquestionably positive, you didn't? I was trying to keep a lookout, but it was a little bit difficult, as you could imagine. The whole _falling through the air _thing didn't help. And now we've got no clue as to where this bird has gone."

_No, _she felt like telling him,_ I didn't see where the freaking bird went. Too busy falling—and trying to save us from plunging to a horrible death, no big…_

Assuming that it had flown back into the upper reaches of the facility, or back into wherever its nest was, Chell staggered forwards through the gloom. With each step, the soaked ground underneath her footing secreted little clouds of moisture. The accompanying noise was a rather nasty _squelch. _

Luckily, the material out of which her jumpsuit had been hewn must be at least partially impermeable. Chell found that, upon taking a few steps out of the water, her legs had actually been kept quite dry, and so had her feet.

But her upper half had not been so lucky.

The fabric clung uncomfortably to her skin, exposing far more of her physique than she would have liked. Through the white top the small indent of her belly button could be seen.

Very conscious of the beam of Wheatley's flashlight travelling up her body, Chell crossed her arms over herself, shielding the sight from him. The last thing she wanted was Wheatley to see—he had a knack for pointing out the very thing she was least comfortable with. She shivered a little, noticing that a bitter draft was gusting through the narrow cavern.

_What _is _this place? _she wondered.

"Drowned as a rat, aren't you," said the core, his interest piqued by Chell's shy body language. "Hmm. 'Drowned as a rat'. Not really a great comparison, is it? Not unless we were drowning rats, of course. Then it might work. But, ahh—rat or not, I'm sure you'll dry off soon enough."

He nodded reassuringly, and Chell smiled lightly down at him.

"Ahh," he said, narrowing his eye to in an attempt to see further ahead through the gloom. "Sorry for having to bring you down here like this, mate. If there had been a better way, we'd have been sure to take it."

She squeezed him a little closer into her side and gave a soft pat to the top of his casing. _I forgive you._

"Well," he replied, a little embarrassed about the affectionate gestures, "all birds and not-bottomless pits aside, at least we're on the right track. Our destination still lies miles below, and we've got a long way to go until we reach another rest stop. So, uhh… I know it may look like nighttime down here, but it's not. Full day ahead. So just spin me around, yeah, and I'll light the way out for us."

She pulled him to the front of her body, tilting his core like a lamp. It didn't do much to break through the ominous gloom of the place, but it helped.

Behind her was an immense, chain-link fence, marked by many decaying signs reading things like 'danger—keep out' and 'this area contains elements of radioactive fallout and cosmic ray spallation'. Behind these, she could see an endless flight of stairs, probably leading back up to the very top layers of the Enrichment Center.

From the high ledge she had fallen from, she could _just _make out a total of two streams cascading down slimy, slick walls, each feeding the churning waters of the puddle. Their tinkling, musical din was added to the only other two sounds permeating the dankness: one was the sloppy, mucky suck of her footsteps, and the other was the sound of Wheatley's mechanics buzzing as he shifted his optic to and fro.

The puddle only had one outlet, a sloping path leading downhill into the gloom. It was very narrow, bordered by towering cement walls, higher than any Chell had seen. The stream ran underground, lost from sight by a mulch of iron beams and large chunks of concrete, all fallen from the collapsed roof above.

It would be a dangerous march.

In contrast with the perfectly balanced, smooth hallways of the Enrichment Center above, this was a treacherous, chaotic mess. It was so laced with sharp, deadly outcroppings that Chell felt her breath quicken from the idea of crossing such a mess by herself.

"Right state this place is in," Wheatley whispered from under her arm. "Like I said before, Scientists wanted to make a courtyard for themselves, or something. Lazy buggers. Didn't think that it might destabilize the entire foundation of the place."

She supposed he was right. The path held signs of once having been held together by large, rusted wires, now hanging dangerously from above. A few still bridged the gap, linking the two walls, but most had crumbled away with age.

What had caused this? She wondered about it, but would never know the answers. Why hadn't _she _fixed it? Were these scars too deep for even _her _to mend?

More likely, they were just out of her 'reach'.

Chell shivered, eyeing the wall on her right uneasily. Portions of it had been torn away completely, leaving gaping holes shrouded only by concrete mesh. Inside, she could see remnants of stairways and rooms that might have been offices.

She breathed deeply and swallowed hard, holding Wheatley close to her as she picked her way downhill.

"This is it," he chattered, trying to keep up a constant stream of encouragement in the form of babbling. "The beginning—of the end. Hopefully. And then it'll be a one-way trip to the surface, mate! Just you and I. We'll be able to properly dry you off, heat you up. No shortage of heat and light up there! I daresay, you won't even need my flashlight anymore! Except for at night. Yes. Might need it at night, not unless you can find some electricity up there, somewhere."

Casting him a wistful smile, Chell took the first few hesitant steps down the crevice. Her left hand flew out to stabilize herself against the slimy wall as her boots slid precariously. Evidently the metal heels of her boots, so useful for long falls, were not equipped to traverse areas of slippery lichen and moss.

_This is going to be a lot harder than I thought._

And Wheatley, as helpful as his encouragement and flashlight were, was not going to make it any easier.

It's hard to balance with a fifteen-pound weight slung over one shoulder.

"It does bring up a good question, though," he said, completely oblivious to Chell's predicament. "What if they _don't _have electricity up there? To be honest, I'm not sure if they do. And, ahh—well, that'd mean there aren't any management rails up there, either… And possibly no ports. That—could be disastrous. Didn't think of that. Bugger, why didn't we think to grab an extra set of batteries while we were up there? I mean, fair enough, you won't still be around a hundred years from now when it runs out, but…"

Whether or not there would be electricity up on the surface was the least of her worries right now. Maybe for Wheatley it would be a big deal, but after living so long as an outcast, Chell was kind of used to a hard-knock way of life. If there wasn't power and the nights were dark and held no light, it'd _still _be better than this place.

The scree-strewn cleft was a lot longer than she had initially thought, she soon found out. She dodged between half-hidden segments of sharp, tough wire, meandered her way past broken shards of glass, ignoring the darkened rooms beyond. She slid over boulders, leaped past broken iron beams, and tried to ignore the way the core's flashlight made pinnacles of debris shine like terrifying swords in the night.

She rested a short while on a carpet of moss, breathing deeply and listening to Wheatley's prattle. He talked a lot when he was nervous; but she couldn't help finding it comforting.

"Hmm," he hummed quietly. "Doesn't look as though anyone's been down here in ages, does it?"

Chell nodded, shivering a little. It was bloody _cold _down here, not to mention damp.

"It's almost like a graveyard. For-for technology. Hellish place, this… At least she can't touch us, though. I seriously doubt she'd ever look here, if she _didn't _think we were dead. Umm… just keep that sustaining thought going, and-and add in that, once we _do _reach the rest-spot, we'll probably be able to make another one of those fires."

Chell privately felt that she agreed wholeheartedly, especially about this place being like a graveyard. Under _her _control or not, it gave her the creeps.

But she rose to her aching legs at the notion of fire. Wheatley was right, it _was _a sustaining thought.

She heaved him further onto her back, and, one hand lining a slimy wall for support, staggered forwards.

Much of the journey passed in this fashion—with Chell clinging fearfully to the wall, trying her best to navigate a safe path through the rubble, and with Wheatley rambling softly behind. Once or twice, her breath caught in her throat as her weight dislodged an avalanche of stones, threatening to send her cascading into pits of sharp, lethal edges and boulders large enough to crush her. Her boots slid regularly against the damp surfaces, as the metal grinded crudely against rock, sometimes producing a blinding flash of sparks under her heel. With every step, the stream underneath grew louder and her path grew steeper, descending into the very heart of the facility.

Her footsteps echoed, beating a strange rhythm against the walls, joined only by the whisper of the small stream. Both cut their own path downward resolutely. Occasionally, Wheatley would shout out warnings for Chell, his heightened voice echoing between the towering walls until her head rang with it.

She appreciated his help, though. So far today, he had proved himself to be a worthy escape-partner. He had graduated from damnit-you-moron how-can-a-computer be-so-infuriating to okay-maybe-you-can-stay.

"S'all right," he'd tell her, putting on a brave face. "Carry on, luv, one small step, or however the saying goes. No rush. Better, err, be safe than sorry, we'll get there eventually."

She lost track of time. All she knew was her sore limbs, aching feet. The world was a cold, dark place, its air moist and chilly. Wheatley's light barely cut the fog, and did nothing to ease the iciness penetrating her heart. Each hop onto another rock, another safespot, was daring and dangerous, and despite her racing pulse she could not sweat. The air did it for her, only serving to moisten her already damp clothing.

At least there were no eyes here. There were no blue eyes to follow her wherever she went. The panels and pistons were broken and offline, covered in vines and creeping feelers. Lifeless robotic arms lay scattered, all with their usual blue optics dead and colorless.

_What happened down here, _she felt like asking the core. What had rendered such a great portion of the facility 'offline'? Or had it always been so?

Her head span as she contemplated this, so she stopped.

But the vertigo had been enough for her to lose her footing. She stumbled, sliding off of a rock towards a deep, dark hole, and the boulder beneath her feet slid with her. It tumbled into another, and another, and suddenly the chasm rang with the sound of falling rock and Wheatley's deafening yell.

"Arrrrrrgggghhh!" he shouted. "Jump—_there_,_ jump there,_ that looks like a safer rock, _right there!_"

Leaping blindly into the direction which she thought he meant, Chell landed, crouching instinctively as her boot heels hit a flat surface. Whatever it was, it was firm and metal, and when her boots hit, the material held fast with an extremely loud _bang. _She opened her eyes, uncurled her arms from her usual landing position, and tried to ignore her heart beat hammering hard in her throat.

"Oh—that works. Very well. Nice one," he said lamely.

She didn't hear him. Instead, she was frowning at the surface she had landed on.

"Are you…" said Wheatley, sounding unsure. "What on earth are you looking at?"

She rose, only to look curiously around her. Her eyes darted between the two walls, observing in silence.

The material had been placed here deliberately, in contrast with the rest of the debris. It was an ancient, rusted metal platform, a diamond-plated deck turned orange by the countless years of exposure to the moist air. It looked like a sort of loading dock, or maybe once it had been a balcony—whatever the reason it was here, Chell wanted to know.

"Are you staring at the ground for any particular reason?" Wheatley asked, confused. "Are you hurt? Is that why? Did you injure yourself, jumping off of that rock, like that? I _knew _you should have jumped to the left—_excellent jumper indeed, pscht—_is that what I'm seeing? That you've hurt yourself?"

_No, _she thought vaguely as she examined the ground. She bent to trace its surface, fingers lining in-between each of the criss-crossing bumps associated with a diamond-weaved texture.

"Ah." He blazed with sudden understanding, sounding relieved yet curious. "I'll take that as a no, then. Good. Means that you shouldn't have any troubles with—OHGOD! RUN! RIGHT NOW! AAAARGGGHHHH!"

She nearly leaped from the platform in fright—his shout, incessantly loud inside of the canyon, had shocked her bad. _DAMNIT, _she wanted to yell, but instead she tried to swat at him and missed—oh, she'd kill him for scaring the daylights out of her!

What was he yelling about, even?

But she froze as another sound met her ears. A low warble of a blackbird and shifting wings was audible, coming from not too far away.

"_RUUUN!_" Wheatley was screaming, writhing, fighting against the harness in panic. "_FOR GOODNESS SAKE, WHAT HAPPENED TO LITTLE MISS TEST SUBJECT! THAT'S A __**BIRD **__YOU'RE LOOKING AT, MATE! I SHOULD ALSO POINT OUT THAT YOU ARE, IN FACT, STILL LOOKING AT IT, WHEN __**YOU**__ SHOULD BE RUNNING FOR __**OUR**__ LIVES!_"

With a half-opened mouth, Chell blinked and scanned the gorge in search for the bird in question. She wasn't _scared_—it was a _bird, _not a bloody mashy spike plate—but Wheatley's cry had surprised her. It had probably surprised the bird pretty well, too. Both of them might be half-deaf from the freaking racket the core had made!

She spotted the animal a minute later. It swooped across the canyon and sang one long, loud note as it passed overhead, and came to rest atop a long spire extending lethally into the darkness.

But its flight had served only to send Wheatley into an even greater panic. "ARRRRRGHHHH!" he bellowed, trembling in alarm against her back. "ARRGGHHHH NOO! HOLD ME! DON'T LET IT GET TO ME! I… wait a second_…_"

He stopped as he saw that the bird was sitting motionless, high over their heads. Its eyes glinted ominously in the distance, reflecting the beam of his flashlight.

"Oh," he said finally. "It's… flown away. Further into the pit, where it can't hurt us—at least, for now, that is. Brilliant! I must have scared it off, all by myself, no thanks to—"

He halted, seeing the toxic look spreading across Chell's face.

"_Ahem_," he coughed, back pedaling. "I mean, uhh, mission accomplished. We survived. Well done, go team 'birds beware'!"

She watched him with amusement as he squirmed in discomfort. _Honestly, _she chuckled to herself, _so much drama over an animal only about a third of the size of you. I would have expected that from__... lesser constructs?__But you?I doubt that birds even __**eat**__ computer parts, not to mention metal spheres, screaming at the top of their—lack of lungs?—probably really unappetizing for __**any **__species._

She glared at him. _Even _I _wouldn't eat you, and I haven't had a proper meal in… how long?_

It was a joke, though. She could understand that he was afraid, and would respect that. He sure made much better company than she could have foreseen, even if he was a bit slow sometimes.

Yeah. He _wasn't _a terrible person (amendment—core), and he made a better friend on this dark and lonely journey than any construct could ever be.

(High praise, coming from her. She blushed at the thought of what he'd say to that. Good thing Wheatley couldn't read minds.)

Was it suddenly warmer in here, or was that just her? God, she was embarrassed, and for no reason! With cheeks burning, she looked away from the core so he wouldn't see her flushed face.

Above and beyond the crouching core-and-human, motionless on the platform, the bird sat contentedly. It was watching them with two yellow, luminous eyes, eyes far too reminiscent of another, haunting optic.

"Bugger," said Wheatley, shooting a glare towards the bird. "Now it's watching us. Probably making sure that we don't make a break for it before it can eat us. Can-can you turn me around, mate? Please? I don't—I don't want to look at it. It reminds me of _her._"

Chell frowned down at the core at once. "It's the eyes," he whispered. "I swear it. Proper creepy, they are_._"

She made a small noise of disbelief in her throat. Wheatley was quivering lightly against her side, his optic darting fearfully between the bird and the path ahead.

She observed the bird in silence. Maybe he _was _right, after all… it was a bit creepy, she had to admit. A little like _her._

Her shoulders sagged heavily as she yawned, overwhelmed with a sudden wave of exhaustion. Really, she was too tired to care much about the bird. She'd be so thankful for rest, maybe a little food, and another fire.

How long had it been, since they had set out? It felt like forever. It was impossible to believe that only this morning she had been enjoying the brilliantly warm, pleasant rays of sun.

Chell reached into her pocket. The smooth, metallic surface of the fire-starting-contraption met her fingers, cold to the touch. _Well at least that's still there, _she thought, dimly surprised that it hadn't fallen out during the last, hectic hours. Her pockets were deep, but she had already crammed the bottoms with the wrinkly remains of potatoes. They better not have been squished to a pulp by accident!

She swayed a little, contemplating just staying here, on this platform, for the night. There wasn't any fuel in sight, but it was doubtful that she'd find a cozier spot, not when the path ahead looked no better than what was behind…

But then she saw it.

An indent was apparent on the side of the closest wall. The gap was small, easily missable due to its uneven surface.

The moist rock gleamed against Wheatley's light, even though his optic was still focussed on the bird above. She tried to pay it no mind, wanting to ignore how it sat like a silent, ominous guard.

If she had cared, she might have thought that this bird was a watcher of sorts. It was an unmoving gargoyle, so still it could be carved out of stone. As the keeper of this alcove, or crevice, it looked down upon them with a solemn eye, waiting for an unknown sign.

It wasn't threatening as much as observant. Perhaps its behavior was peculiar, but Chell knew nothing of birds, so she disregarded it. She shot it one last, blank glance, silently requesting permission to enter the passageway—and it cried out in confirmation, granting her access.

"What is it?" Wheatley asked, catching on quick. "A passageway?"

She nodded.

"Oh…" he looked at the wall uneasily. "You're not thinking of—?"

_Of course I am, _she said to herself. _Where else am I going to spend the night?_

"You are, aren't you…" he wondered, his optic narrowing as he surveyed the cleft. "That's, uhh… That looks dangerous. Are you mad? I suppose you don't remember me saying to you that it's my job to warn you of any potentially lethal obstacles?"

As he spoke, Chell moved closer to the wall, holding the core in front of her to see better.

"Well, warning flag's going off," he squeaked, his pitch heightening in fear. "Look. It practically says 'danger—keep out' on the doorway, okay? Are you seeing this properly? Obviously not, or you wouldn't be trying to go in there. Whole place looks like it's about to collapse, and I'd rather it didn't collapse with us _inside_…"

Sure, it looked dangerous, but not more dangerous than the rest of their path had been thus far. Wheatley had a point, and she was grateful that he was trying to warn her, but… she wanted to see what was inside!

She was drawn to it!

Tired and hungry, freezing her _arse _off—surely nothing beyond this cleft could be worse than what they had already encountered?

Making her way towards it, she ignored Wheatley's panicked gasping. "No," he groaned, his handles springing backwards as if he thought he could hold her back with sheer force. "No, STOP! I said stop, please, d-don't—oh, no, no! Don't go in there… Auuughhhh!"

She crossed the platform with a soft, metallic rhythm, her heels tapping lightly against its surface. Above, the bird shifted on its perch. It snapped its beak at her, but it did not take flight. Wheatley shuddered violently.

"I can't watch," he groaned finally. "Can't do it. Not with that bird sitting there. J-just let me know, willya, when we're inside. O-or, better yet, only tell me if you find nothing dangerous inside, because if I'm going to die, m-maybe it's best I didn't know…"

Quivering with fear, Wheatley let his optic slide shut.

Chell slammed her palm into his side in retaliation. _I can't see, you idiot! I'm going to walk off the freaking edge by mistake!_

His metal hull rang with the impact, and his eye cracked open. Gryos buzzing out of control, he let out a protest:

"_Hey! _Do watch what you're doing, lady!"

She pulled a face at him, sneering and gesturing towards the far edge of the platform. _How would you like it if we stepped blindly into __that__by mistake?_

"Very _well_," he growled, and Chell jogged the remaining distance to the cleft. Wheatley shuddered, unable to look away from its black interior. "Preparing for the dignified death," he sobbed into her arms, "of a trusty sidekick (you), and her brilliant, faithful leader, proper astute fellow, he was, very charming, good-looking (me)… Let it be known that he did not lead her into her death, that was entirely voluntary…"

_Shut up_, she thought angrily. From this angle, she could see that it was a long, slender gap, ending in a short flight of stairs disappearing further into the room. _You first, core… if only you had legs to __actually __go first…_

She held her breath as she stepped down, the steel stairway rattling with each step, and the bird outside made a soft noise in reply. It was like a cry of farewell, Chell thought, but Wheatley shivered closer to her, ducking his optic further into her warmth.

The room beyond was surprisingly wide. It was an airy, circular room. Its ceiling was high and vaulted, punctuated by one single, round chimney-like chute.

It was actually a grimy glass tube, as wide as the other pneumatic diversity vents located throughout the facility, though this one had no suction. It was still and silent, for it had been broken by unnamed forces about halfway up. Broken glass littered the floor, for the breach was wide enough for her to climb into, though doing so would result in sharp glass-induced injuries.

But the tube gave away the room's secret. It was a disused elevator shaft—which meant that this was an ancient elevator room.

Much older, though, than the ones she knew. There were no monitors, only stone walls. Some of these walls were crumbling, but, surprisingly, most of them were intact.

"…Are we dead yet?" asked Wheatley, his voice muffled in her shirt. She pulled him back by the handle, smiling a little. She waited for him to have a look at the room.

"Oh!" he said slowly, his optic dancing enthusiastically over the walls. "D'you know what this is?" she nodded. "Pity it's broken, otherwise we could have used it to take us down. I wonder who broke it? Maybe the same bloke who's gone and left all of this rubbish lying about. Have you seen this?"

He was nodding towards the opposite side of the room.

Chell's eyes followed the beam of his flashlight over a strange sight. Someone had left objects in here for whatever reason—there was a makeshift, dusty desk, shoved haphazardly against a wall, many empty food cans, and a pile of ragged, moth-eaten blankets folded neatly in a pile.

Immediately, she made for the desk, wanting to pull open its drawers to check if anything of worth had been left behind, but something else made her stop.

The signs of human life had been welcome, after so long by herself, but they were not what captured her. There was something else within this place, something etched across the walls, drawing her in until she could not look away.

"…And I don't really even know _why _someone would have chosen to live _here_, of all places," Wheatley was saying, oblivious to Chell's interest in other matters. "I mean, look at the state of this part of the facility! Not very homely at all, is it, really. Now, if _I _were escaping…"

He stopped speaking as her sooty hand found his upper handle, raising it a few degrees to shine the beam onto the wall instead. His eye widened in shock as she did so, not at the gesture, but at what they both could now witness in greater detail.

"Blimey," he whispered solemnly. Chell's eyes widened as she looked, with the core still held firmly beneath her left arm.

"Get closer," he suggested. "Let's have a look. Couldn't hurt."

In silent agreement she stepped forwards, examining the first bit of the wall. Somebody had painted a mural here, smeared ancient ink across the peeling wall. Chell found herself wondering how she could have missed such bright colors.

There were four, but she saw only the first for now, examining the brilliant hues of orange, the vibrant blues, blood reds. The strokes were messy, untidy; scrawled and sprawling, yet beautifully so. She recognized the work, there was no doubt about that—she had seen his hand before, painted within distant portions of the facility.

He knew things. That much was clear by his work. The works of art depicted many horrific events, a tragic story, a strange and magnificent encounter of the facility's darkest secrets.

He taught her, through his art, and she felt his presence in return. It gave her strength and hope, made her believe that she wasn't as alone as she felt at times. Wheatley helped, too, but there was only so much comfort she could expect from him—he was a machine. He could never understand.

"Who did this?" the core asked, his voice unusually quiet.

She shook her head. She did not know.

This man (she supposed by his heavy hand, and his occasional faceless self-portrait) was a mystery, but she had a sense of who he might have been. A lone survivor, a maverick much like herself, fighting a never-ending battle with insanity against almost certain death.

But he was much more chaotic than she was. He had suffered, she knew, as she had, but her memories failed her. He kept all of his.

And he drew her, knew her. She had no memories of him, no inkling of who he was. Maybe she had dreamt of him, but forgotten. The murals triggered an elusive sense of nostalgia, maybe déjà vu, even, but it was not enough to bring back the recollections hidden from her behind what Wheatley might call 'serious brain damage'.

"D'you think he's still alive?" he asked her.

No.

She did not think he had ever successfully escaped from this place. Judging by the quality of this room's furnishings, far too many years had passed for him to possibly have survived.

"You know," said Wheatley thoughtfully, peering up at the mural, "If this is that same bloke who had written all of that rubbish about cake, back in the test chambers, I reckon he might have been an employee."

Hmm, now that was worth a second thought—Chell stared down at him, her eyes filled with unasked questions.

"Have a look, there," was all that he said in reply.

So Chell did. She moved even closer to the first mural, trying to examine the faces.

There was a man, here—a familiar man, tall and strong, front and center. He had a harsh, aging yet handsome face, his brow furrowed and arms held aloft, directing a crowd of people.

He had the unmistakeable air of being _the boss—_and Chell knew who he was. It had to be Cave Johnson.

But the people behind him were all unfamiliar. They were struggling, writhing pairs, fighting, man against man, woman against woman. Chell felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room as she looked, for half of the faces were of innocent people, all staggering to escape from Cave Johnson's Aperture employees.

They appeared to be administering some sort of a choke-hold. There was about ten employees, with their startlingly-white lab coated arms wrapped around others' throats—but no face was happy, all were filled with despair and cowardice.

Cave Johnson had been dying, his ideas had become even more reckless, his plans hurtful and illogical.

The artist-man had known this, and had written across the mural in very messy strokes: 'Tier One, Heimlich Counter Maneuver = Death.'

Neither Chell nor Wheatley said anything. They didn't move, save to take a look at the second mural of the row, both feeling like they had entered some sort of funeral service.

The second mural was of children, their hopes and dreams stolen from them by the same nameless Aperture employees. Their faces were blank, full of despair and shock, and misunderstanding.

Most of them had been special needs, too, children who had wished and wished and deserved to see their wishes come true. But Aperture had stolen them, just like they had stolen her, herself. Would it be able to take her last hope from her, too? Her dream of escape?

The unknown artist had called this mural 'Tier Two, The Take A Wish Foundation = Broken Hearts.'

But the last mural, Chell knew its contents. Test chambers, buttons, the Dual Portal Device. This mural was a depiction of the laws of physics conquered, and the fiery, oval gates she knew so well—_portals. _

He had written 'Tier Three, The Portal Project = The Future.'

Chell inhaled sharply.

"Or maybe he was a test subject, too," said Wheatley slowly. "Yeah, probably. He must've known a lot about the facility."

She nodded, her frown deepening in thought.

"I think he escaped," he said, and Chell turned to him reflexively.

_What?_

"Well, he came down here, didn't he, yeah?" he said. "And he wrote those warnings inside of the test chambers. He was brave, I think. Kinda like you, mate."

She stared at him for quite a while. Her? Brave? She had never considered herself brave before. She always did what she _had _to do. Fear was just a byproduct of her daily life, something she had learned to live with.

Her job was to run, to escape, no matter what. What else was she going to do, lie down on a scaffold and let _her _bake her alive?

Her primal drive to survive was stronger than fear. It was what kept her going, kept her on her feet when she felt too weak to stand.

"Yeah," said Wheatley confidently. "I think he escaped. All the way up to the surface, probably up there right now, maybe even drawing some more…err, _nicer _pictures. See? We can do it, too. If this old bloke could, then we can, and we will."

Despite how serious she felt, she smiled. He was so confident, so _sure_. He was positive that he was going to escape. That they _both _were.

"Smiling," he said, observing her. He tried to mirror the expression back. "Optimism in dire circumstances such as these is great. And, look! I guess we can rest here, since this bloke has left us great, er, resting materials? Yes, wonderful, just look at that comfy stack of blankets, maybe even a mattress."

Yes—after she looked at the fourth mural, she'd rest.

The fourth was the biggest. It was the size of perhaps two of the others combined, and was the most interesting, she found.

It told a story: in the depths of the facility, Cave Johnson had hid his fourth project. Locked away in one of the old test shafts was an experiment, one which they had spent many, many years working on. The mural depicted what was supposed to be a great celebration, its first activation, which had gone so horribly wrong.

Neurotoxin. Unreason. The Prototype failed, with no restraining bolt, no morality. The only option would be to use some_one _as a base, a human subconscious; sentience based only on programming directives would not be enough.

'Tier Four, The Prototype = Failure.'

Unmorality was like a chain, each generation linked together, passing down accepted immoral concepts until they were no longer regarded as such. This was what the artist was saying. The chain needed to be broken.

"What does it mean?" Wheatley asked, and Chell shook her head.

She had an idea, but she wouldn't voice it, even if she could.

He turned a bit in his shell, facing a lower section of wall. "Have you seen this yet?" he asked her.

By his flashlight, she saw that he was staring somewhere near the very bottom.

"That writing, there," he directed, sensing her apparent confusion. "Can you read it? I can't read it. It's too small."

She couldn't, either. She edged closer, squinting, trying to read the tiny lettering.

It was a poem. She knew the poem, she'd seen it before:

_Fear the turret, for it is knell_

_That summons you to heaven, or to hell._

And:

_Login: DRattmann_

_Password: Unreason_

"What?" Wheatley asked in surprise. "What in the name of bloody Science does that mean?"

He looked up at her, silently requesting she explain it. She shrugged.

"Oh, for God's—couldn't this bloke have explained a little better, what it is he's trying to say?" he was a little more upset than the situation warranted, she thought, but she knew better than to try to tell him otherwise.

"Well, I'll tell ya," he said, watching to make sure she was listening, "last thing I'm going to do on an escape is scribble bloody riddles across a wall. And, you know what, the worst part is, the worst part, that the password-thing looks like it's actually important, too. A password? Username? Probably one of the ones the scientists used to use to override the mainframe."

_Override the mainframe? _Curiously, Chell stared at him.

"…Yeah," he continued seriously. "It's probably why he left it here, I'll bet. For the next poor fellow who might come across here. Of course, I personally have no use for it, because I can interface directly with the system, but you… Maybe you ought to memorize that, in case we come across a computer terminal somewhere, or something."

True… Chell tried to remember the words through the exhaustion quickly seeping into her brain. She had been standing too long, and the adrenaline she associated with leaping over dangerous boulders had dissipated. If by chance they _did _find a computer terminal somewhere… she'd be ready.

"All right," Wheatley said finally from her side. "Now let's have a rest, shall we? Still got some of those potatoes left? You're looking proper tired, mate, not to mention still soaked, and I think I saw a little firewood over there, by the entrance… Why don't you make another of those fire-things? Sounds tremendous, yeah?"

In silent agreement, Chell made her way across the room. She stopped only to examine the desk and pull out each of its drawers, sifting through its contents for anything useful.

She found a collection of rusted, empty cans of beans and two empty water canteens. The very sight of the canteens reminded her of just how thirsty she was—her lips were cracked and dry, her mouth parched.

A fire was first on her list, though. She'd deal with the empty containers later.

She deposited Wheatley onto the desk so she could work. "Man alive," he whispered to her, giving her a proper once-over now that he was no longer tucked tightly into her side. "You really are all wet, aren't you? I didn't even realize. You must be freezing!"

It was true—her hands shook as she pulled the wrinkled jumpsuit from around Wheatley. Immediately, she slung it over her back and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, her breath wavering for a moment as she adjusted to the temperature change. Then, she pulled her firelighter out of her pocket, fingering it with an unsteady grip. By the light of his flashlight, Chell directed her trembling, chilly limbs into action, gathering firewood into a small pile near the center of the room.

"Yeah," Wheatley nodded in agreement. "Sleep'll have to wait. Delicious-looking potatoes, first."

_Delicious, yeah, right, _she mused.

The core watched with interest as Chell managed to produce a steady flame, as though he were trying to learn how it was done. The fire suddenly illuminated every edge of the room, from the vaulted ceiling down to the debris-covered floor. She felt a wave of warmth wash over her, and she sighed, her eyes closing lazily at the sensation.

"That's nice," Wheatley sighed in similar contentment, letting optic shields quiver down. "I'd join you, if I could, mate, but these handle bits'd get in the way. Bit annoying, really."

She didn't care—she was perfectly comfortable, here. She kept him within eyesight, slumping languidly against the glass chute, listening to the nice noises of the place.

There was the faint crackling and popping from the fire, and, distantly, at the very edge of her range of hearing, she could still hear the sounds of the whispering creek outside.

And it was that which spurred her into action, even though she was so pleasantly content. Water—she grabbed one of the empty containers, stopping for a half a second to look down at the core.

_I'll be right back._

Then she promptly strode the length of the room and ascended the metal staircase.

"Hey, _wait!_" Wheatley called in confusion. "Where are you _going_?"

Rolling her eyes, she turned and gave him one single gesture in reply—a thumbs up, directed towards outside.

"But-but," he choked, "It could be _dangerous _out there! That _bird _is still watching, I don't doubt, and God knows what else is a-creeping around out there! And my flashlight! You need my flashlight!"

Ignoring his protestant stuttering, she turned and swiftly climbed back out of the chamber.

She regretted not bringing him with her almost at once.

It was not wholly dark, but it was a close thing. The strange, luminous smog that seemed to fill most of the lofty areas of the Enrichment Center persisted here, too, she noted, wishing that she had Wheatley's light to guide her through the darkness.

She wished for his light, but she could not have brought him, not unless she wanted an even bigger headache. She was sure that he would have objected to her embarking on such a ludicrous, midnight quest for water.

Chell wrapped her arms firmly around the water canister, pressing it into her chest, giving it a bulky, uncomfortable hug. She stepped forwards carefully, her heels the only sound besides the ever-trickling stream.

It was this stream which she sought in the night. She squinted around, blindly trying to find the source of the noise, her outstretched fingertips brushing against slimy rock. Above, the ever-watching bird let out two musical notes.

Her eyes flickered to it, but she could not see it through the gloom. A second later, however, she heard it take flight, its wings beating a repeating rhythm through the chilly air.

It swooped low, and came to rest about five feet away, right beside a small outcropping of rock. The only way she could tell that it was still there, was by its curiously luminous eyes, glowing a dull yellow through the night.

Unlike Wheatley, she was not inclined to fear this animal. She felt drawn to it, rather than afraid; it was the only other living thing she'd witnessed in a very, very long time.

It cried out as she moved forwards, but she ignored it, seeking only the stream. She found it directly below the bird's perch and lowered the canteen into the water, disregarding the way it ruffled its feathers and beat its wings uneasily at her closeness.

She dipped down, her back towards the bird, letting the swirling, icy water fill her bottle. She shivered again, freezing without the heat of the fire, the mist coming off of the water dampening her almost-dry clothes.

With the canteen almost full, she straightened, or meant to—but at that moment, something soft brushed against her neck and she froze, paralysed with surprise, her heart beating a drumroll inside of her chest—

The thing, soft, with knife-sharp talons, not clinging hard enough to draw blood but firmly enough she'd have little marks left should it fly off, cawed jovially from her left shoulder.

She hardly dared to move. Her arm locked up with the effort of holding the now-full canteen. She barred her teeth in concentration, trying to think. _Calm down, _she told herself, _it's only a bird, it's not going to—_

But then it shifted in closer, almost flush against her skin, and its talons squeezed almost painfully. Absurdly, she had a feeling that it was trying to tell her to move on, walk back into the room—_it's a bird, _she thought, _only a bird._

_It'll fly away if I move._

And with her arm unable to hold the canteen a moment longer, Chell shifted arms and strode, straight-backed, towards the room. Her jaw locked and eyes focused onto the entrance, she felt the bird sway but not take flight.

It made a small noise in her ear, something she was not expecting. She jumped a little, but it only nuzzled her, singing out a quiet song of contented notes.

It was like, welcoming her, happy she was here with him. She couldn't help herself, she smiled a little at its soft touch in her cheek, an unexplained comfort and contentedness spreading from the pit of her stomach.

She unstuck her spine and walked casually, the bird retaining its perch with ease. She breathed out one long, low breath, internally grateful that it hadn't left her—yet.

But why hadn't it?

_It's probably after my potatoes, _she remembered with a jolt, and one hand automatically drifted to her pocket, checking that they were still there.

Potatoes, check.

But there was still one other problem, she knew, and she stopped, just outside the entrance to the room. _He _was in there, and was going to have a screaming fit if she brought this bird back with her…

_Whatever, _she decided in favor of the bird. She had taken a liking to its weight and warmth on her shoulder.

So she descended the stairs.

"Oh!" called the core at her arrival, "_there _you are! I was beginning to get a little worried, mate, what with that _bird _out there, and all—"

He froze, his eye shutters drawn comically wide, his entire facet compacting as if he were drawing in his breath.

The sight of him almost made her laugh but she refrained, knowing fully the seriousness of the situation. The bird sang a welcome note of greeting, and snuggled closer to her cheek when the core did not respond.

With a sudden pang, Chell understood—this bird was lonely. If it had ever seen a human before, or any other sign of life, it had probably been a very, very long time ago. Perhaps, the last human it had seen alive was the man who had once claimed this place home, D. Rattmann.

"W-wha…" Wheatley stammered in shock. "Wh-what the _bloody hell do you think you're __doing __with that __thing__?_"

The sentence hung heavily in the air, and she shrugged, feeling the bird tilt its head in interest at the immobile core. It made a tiny, nearly inaudible sound, which Chell barely caught, as if whispering inquisitively into her ear. She knew that it was wondering who both she and the core were, and, most of all, what they were doing _here_, of all places.

"Hahahah_hahahah_," Wheatley was chuckling, a high, forced laugh at the determined expression spreading across her face. "You've _got_ to be _kidding me. _Are you—oh, _no_. No, no, no, no, NO_**. **_You're not seriously considering keeping that-that _thing _as a _pet_, are you?"

She contemplated the idea, and absent-mindedly reached up to stroke the bird's black feathers. It twitched in surprise, but held still, letting out one appreciative warble. She smiled.

Never breaking eye contact with Wheatley, she nodded slowly.

"Have you got—you really _have _got brain damage!" he yelled, and she felt her smile falter. "You're going to get us killed. Don't you understa—no, perhaps you don't. Let me explain. That _thing _is a killing machine!"

Chell blinked back in surprise. Killing machine? She knew he would overreact, but… that was a little far.

"And, you know what else?" he gasped, very upset. "You know what else? If you're planning on keeping that thing, I'm not going to talk to you. Yeah. It's one or the other, mate. You can't have both of us. So-so just, put that thing back outside, where it _belongs, _if you please. It can't hurt us while it's out there."

She opened her mouth, her brow furrowing in annoyance. So he wasn't going to talk to her, was he? That was well enough, she was tired, and he never shut up, normally. She doubted it was even possible for him to keep quiet.

Choosing not to react, she stoked the small fire and sat down beside it, shooting him one solitary, sour glare. The bits of ash and embers swilled in the air, retaining their glow far above her head, nearly reaching the high ceiling. The bird gave an appreciative chirp, thankful for the warmth.

Eventually her shivers died out, and she pulled two, medium-sized potatoes out of her pocket, deciding to save the other five for later.

She set to work preparing everything, with the bird (oh, she'd have to think of a better name) resting atop her left shoulder all the while. A torn bit of sharp, metal mesh was used to spear the potatoes with, salvaged from one of the outer edges of the room.

All the while, Wheatley did not say anything.

His optic followed her every move, though, narrowed in intense mistrust. He was steaming mad, and she knew it.

The potatoes began to cook, and Chell thought… what should the bird's name be?

It came to her randomly—Orion.

She was not exactly sure why she had chosen that name. All she knew was that she liked it, for it was one of those familiar-but-unfamiliar things, almost like she used to know what it meant. There was a vague suspicion that it had to do with the night sky, something beautiful, maybe, something foreign, remote.

He was like that, to her—his liveliness so unusual, so contrasting with her entire life, revolving around robots and more robots.

Orion. He sat lightly on her shoulder, watching her swallow bits of potato. _What good manners, _she thought, meaning how polite the bird was about her eating food so close to it. It didn't beg, in fact, it didn't even look hungry—but that could be blamed on how unappetizing the potatoes really were.

She held one up to its beak. It ruffled its feathers in disgust.

Well, that settled it, then.

Wheatley shot her a very offended look as she pet the bird. She pretended not to notice, yawned and then stretched, and finally removed herself from the edge of the fire.

The pile of blankets turned out to be resting on top of a small mattress. She dragged it over to the fireside. Where the material was worn in places, the springs poked out and dragged roughly across the floor with an unpleasant _scrape._

She laid out the bedding, still ignoring Wheatley's staring optic. He had lost that pissed off look, his eye now fully open and tilted at an inquisitive angle.

His silence was about to crack, and she knew it.

But she was considering something else. The day's events had put her in a strange mood. She felt Orion shift beside her, and smiled a little.

She had made a new friend, but that didn't mean that there wasn't still a place for old friends.

And she fully intended on reminding him of that.

Without any warning, except for perhaps a sly smile, Chell crossed over to the core. He blinked up at her, confused, but before he could say anything, she had pulled him right into her arms.

"WH—aaaaaaaarrrghhh!" he exclaimed in shock as he squirmed. "Mate, what are you doing?"

Orion took flight at the noise and movement, coming to rest atop the faded desk, precisely where Wheatley had sat. His eyes reflected the firelight brilliantly—the old, creepy yellowish glare that was so reminiscent of _her _eye was replaced with a happy, content fondness.

She had placed Wheatley onto the center of the mattress and sat down beside him.

"Not quite sure why you've brought me over here," he gasped, a little muffled through the mattress and blankets. "But if you think this means we're on speaking terms again, I'm just going to reassure you that it does _not._" He nodded for emphasis. "Though… hypothetically, if I _were _speaking to you, I would waste absolutely no time in informing you that I'm still not going to talk to you until you get rid of that bird."

Chell nodded to show that she understood, watching him closely as he talked. He was still looking rather angry, she thought, and placed a hand gently atop his handle apologetically, stroking it in what she hoped was a soothingsort of way.

"What are you doing," he asked flatly.

She shrugged and turned herself over, pulling the blankets up over her body. She curled around the core and covered him up, too, wrapping one of her hands over the top of his hull.

He made out a startled, choking noise, clearly mortified. "Aaaahh… umm, wha—"

She rested her forehead against the bit of plating directly above his optic. He held himself still, but she could feel tiny tremors rocking through him as he quaked with uneasiness.

"Uhh… is this, standard protocol for you humans?" he asked awkwardly, his handles and optic thrusting outward in an attempt to push her away. She winced as a handle jabbed her painfully in the nose. "Because, as comfortable as this is, I'm not really interested in—"

She wrapped herself even more firmly around him, honing in on the slight heat radiating from his optic. She shut her eyes, breathing in one long, final breath of contentedness.

"Fair enough," he gasped, "if I were you, I probably wouldn't let go, either, but…"

She did not move.

"Oh, bloody hell," he moaned unhappily. "I understand, you must be lonely, but oh, just let go, wouldya? It's a little awkward, although warm, properly warm…"

He hummed into silence and buried himself into her, his handles going instantly limp. She smiled, glad for the closeness.

Anything was good by this point. She was really… lonely. Orion had reminded her of just how comforting close contact could be.

Maybe Wheatley was starting to understand, too. He had certainly stopped moving about and complaining. She felt another intense wave of exhaustion wash over her as she relished the heat from both the fire and Wheatley's optic.

The memories of their daily journey passed briefly before her mind—images of sunlight, the coolness of water. The green, fresh scent of plantlife, crisp as new spring grass. The collection of recollections was like a little vibrating ball of happiness in her chest.

_I wonder if that's what the surface'll be like, _she grinned. _Sun and rain, plants and earth, animals…_

The world could have easily been Aperture and nothing but. Her entire purpose could have been a lie, or worse, testing. Any inkling of the surface might have been some sham created by _her _as a very cruel form of mockery, a well-played jest.

But it wasn't. Freedom was real, and something she was going to have. Wheatley would make sure of that.

"Goodnight, then," he whispered to her finally, shifting one last time against her belly. "Hmm… I suppose it would be pointless, wouldn't it, to ask you if you could turn the volume down on your heart beat? It _is _rather loud."

She laughed quietly, knowing well that she could never expect him to fully understand her. Maybe one day, in some other place, she'd teach him. Yes, once they had freedom.

He was human enough, for a machine. He could probably learn more than she gave him credit for.

She'd teach him someday, maybe even a little bit on their way, if she could. Anything to break the mundane of a facility full of psycho computers was fine by her, and Wheatley already did a pretty good job of that.

She snuggled closer into the core.


	11. You Saved Science

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Eleven - You've Saved Science  
**

* * *

The three companions slept on unknowingly beside the dying fire, hearing only the occasional sputter of dying flames, the crackling pop of hot ashes cooling in the damp, night air. So deep was their sleep that none of them awoke as a lone, unstable vibration echoed through the floor, rumbling from the very depths of the facility. They slept, innocent and peaceful, with an occasional twitch of the mute lunatic's eye, a shuffling of wings from the blackbird named Orion, and a muffled creak as the core shifted during his dreamless power save mode.

They were not bothered by the goings-on miles deep within the facility.

Another five-hundred feet below the slumbering trio, a loud, solitary _beep _sounded from a hidden camera's eye. Metal upon metal scraped as two mechanical figures detangled themselves from a giant hug; one tall and slender, her form feminine for a robot, with a bright, orange optic centered within her elliptical-shaped body. Her gangly limps matched her partner's, though he was much shorter and sturdier; Blue, with his inquisitive, round optic, flashing briefly towards Orange in excitement, barely concealing a non-existent grin. Their joints and pistons, hinges and cogs hissed and squeaked as each sprung into the air in joy, high-fiving enthusiastically.

The science was done.

"_You did it!_"

The two constructs blinked against a sudden, blinding red flash of light. Sirens wailed through the onslaught just as hundreds of ancient locks disengaged. A grinding, creaking, ear-splitting racket sounded, shuddering and shaking the very bones of the facility. Smoke billowed out from behind a door—a door the size of a city, too big to ever have been logically created, a vast, monstrous thing—and the hatch rose up, and up, out of sight. The robots shrunk backwards, flinching, frightened and innocent, unaware of what was about to happen. They had reached the human vault—after _so long_, so manytests—they were finally here_._

But what now?

They stared blankly, entranced by the sight of the magnificent door's mechanical arm wrenching the ancient hatch from the surrounding rock. The catwalk they stood upon trembled alarmingly and the walls around them roared with the echoes of disengaging pistons.

This was the result of about two days' constant effort. It had been an agonizing search, long and difficult, full of the most ruthless tests either construct had ever been introduced to.

And now, after retrieving bits of crucial, mysterious information, _the boss _of the place had been fully connected—and they had mastered the art of excursion funnels, hard light bridges and timed crushers.

Yes, the blueprints, disks, and bits of data had all been retrieved, none of which they fully understood. Their purpose was testing, and nothing but.

But beyond the bounds of programming, they wondered. Wondered about humans, about what they might be like; were they just as ludicrous as _the boss _had always said they were?

Both robots wanted to test with them, observe them, maybe even engage with them if they could work up the courage. If only _the boss _would let them.

She probably wouldn't, she never let them forget: they were artificial constructs, built for strength and speed with no real understanding of human life. They could never fathom the notion of death.

So they stood, Blue standing tall and still, being the braver of the two. He paid no mind to the quaking facility, mystified by the bright, blinding light falling from inside of the now-open vault. Behind him, Orange quivered and shrunk, her portal device raised in caution.

Their optics shrunk to pinpoints of twin lights and their free hands rose robotically to shield their single eyes from the the foggy steam billowing out of the vault. It cleared slowly, and Orange chirruped quietly in Blue's auditory sensor, urging him to take the first step forward. She poked him playfully with the end of her gun, and he strode forwards carefully, peering around the cavernous vault.

Halfway down the suspended catwalk, Blue froze. The fog had cleared now, and he blinked up, wide-eyed, at something Orange could not yet see.

"_You did it,_" _the boss_ declared happily, speaking through both bot's communication links in shocked, irregular tones. "_You really did it!_"

It was Orange's turn to stand mesmerized, enthralled and utterly fascinated by the sight of a pale, slightly flabby body, suspended in a greenish, glowing liquid. There was nothing physically remarkable about its form, but even so, both bots found themselves unable to look away from it.

"_All your testing was worth it!_"

Blue and Orange pulled their single eyes away from the sight of the closest unconscious human, and whispered a quiet exclamation to each other.

"_Just look at all those test subjects! Think of all the testing!_"

In reply, both bots spun on the spot, staring towards the end of the massive chamber. Row upon row of human test subject had been locked away here, thousands—perhaps even _millions_—each suspended in its own glass bubble of liquid, effectively frozen into long-term sleep.

"_You've saved Science!_"

Both optics dilated at the praise, for it was the first time either bot had ever been acclaimed in such a way. Blue glanced downward, lost in the sudden comprehension, before he raised his optic, staring at his partner. Her arm jutted out in an awkward form of a thumbs-up, smiling as cheerfully as a robot with no lips could, and they jumped, emitting echoing screeches of celebration. They had done it_,_ found the humans, mission accomplished. They celebrated with a weird, robotic dance, both limbs moving wildly, jerkily rotating and spinning along with a silent song.

They high-fived one last time and leaped joyously into the air. But then _the boss _spoke again, her voice finding the usual, bland octave of bored disappointment.

"Enough celebrating. We have more work to do."

Then, without the glow of happiness fading from each individual face, the bots exploded—two twin wisps of smoke rose from the scattered, burnt remains of what had been two fully-functioning robots not two seconds ago.

_The boss _sighed, just as bored and displeased as ever before.

"_Let the Science begin_."

* * *

Chell was walking across a silent, level platform, through the remnants of some disused, wide hall. It had been three long, tiring days, three days filled with an almost constant hunger, her only break from the bleary, repetitive Enrichment Center-ish scenery being the odd distraction in the form of one of her two companions. The going was not as rough, cold, or wet as it had been during that fateful evening when she had first met Orion, but things down here were hardly better at all.

They stopped to rest only once a day, to sleep; Chell would eat a solitary potato, once before bed, and once in the morning. Thankfully, she had found an unopened, undamaged can of beans, hidden away inside of yet another alcove on the second day, but she had not had a stroke of luck since then. Her back ached, her mouth was dry, and she longed for a drink of cool water. But down here, the only puddles were an oil-slick and dirty mess of mechanical fluids—the processed, left-over waste of the miles of machinery above.

Good time was being made, according to Wheatley. His 'map' led them faithfully, and she kept him strapped in the harness across her back, resting a free arm over top his spherical casing as she walked. Her footsteps dragged, the metal soles scraped, but she did not protest carrying him, for she knew that the end to this sheer exhaustion and famine was slowly coming into sight.

At the moment, though, everything hurt. Orion flew slightly ahead, as the strange team's sharp eyes and ears. Chell felt comfort at just the thought of him being there, for she knew the bird well by now; he was brilliant, perhaps even moreso than the core she carried under her arm. Perhaps, if she had had any previous experience with wild animals, she might have thought it odd that this bird was _so_ astute, so _comfortable _around humans, but as one who had served her entire, miserable life in Enrichment Center solitude, her suspicions laid solely within the walls around her.

"I dunno what he thinks he's doing," Wheatley muttered in annoyance under her armpit as per usual. He had quite a few not-so-nice things say about the bird, but lately he appeared to be warming up to him. This had been the first semi-rude comment of the day.

Wheatley shook his casings groggily, obviously tired of being carried and very bored. "Bloody show-off!" he suddenly exclaimed, as if trying to get a rise out of Chell. "You know, if _I _had wings, I'd be up there myself, guiding us. As it turns out though, I haven't any wings, but I'm stillthe one who's leading us, technically speaking…"

She nodded vaguely, only half-listening. She was paying more attention to the walls around them, wary for any sign of _her. _

"He'sjust trying to make me feel bad, I can tell!" he continued, shifting to look up at her as she walked. "Well, it isn't going to work. I won't let it. Left, just up here, by the way, luv."

She patted him softly in thanks, whistling for Orion to follow her around the corner. Whistling—this was something that she had not previously known she was capable of doing, until she found that she needed a way to communicate with Orion. The answer was for her to stick two gritty, foul-tasting, stained fingers into her mouth and blow, hard, earning a note of surprise from Wheatley, as well as the return of the bird.

The adjoining wall of this next hall was much similar to the one which she had just left, with a high ceiling, interspersed with yet more gel tubes and pneumatic diversity vents. On her left, the towering wall had been replaced by a thick, reinforced window, looking onto another motionless conveyor belt, a relic of this disused portion of the factory.

"We're in the _Test Subject Relocation Center_," Wheatley wasted no time in informing her. "Somewhere along here's where they used to keep the test subjects waiting to be processed. They'd strip them, take their clothes, money, wallets, chuck them a portal device and throw them into testing. Well—that's what they did with the _fortunate _ones. The rest of them weren't so lucky," he chuckled. "No matter, though._ Our_ destination lies still a bit further ahead."

The lofty corridor was light but uninteresting. Chell staggered onwards, almost oblivious to Wheatley's cheerful prattle, deaf to the sounds of gel-like liquid gurgling through the tubes above her head. The first time she had heard this, she had been frightened by it, for the areas of the facility they had traveled through during the majority of their journey were soundless. Well, aside from the natural echoes of running, falling water from above. Here it was much different—she had been thrown, once again, into the depths of the factory, where the sounds of creaking, mechanical joints were normal, the distant rumble like thunder, rolling under her feet.

She was uncomfortably aware of something much more frightening, though. The awareness deepened with each footstep, plaguing her with the knowledge of something that even Wheatley had avoided commenting on. The rhythm of the facility had changed. It was no longer filled with a distant, alive hum, but full of a great, echoing clanking of moving parts, shifting gears, grinding panels.

It was as if the sleeping dragon had awoken, and the sounds of dripping, sloshing gel overhead were blood, rushing through great tubes like veins and arteries, feeding its gigantic, beating heart.

Everything was alive. Each panel, set tightly into the wall like a single, individual piece of a gigantic puzzle, a sliver of a poisonous image, was the end of a sensitive nerve—the floor, alive with sensors, chambers like cavernous lungs, breathing, _moving_, and buttons coated with synapses. Their transmissions jumped along dotted lines of green and yellow, connecting to chamber doors, swept wide open.

_She was testing again._

Chell knew it; though she was not sure _how. _

The very idea made her skin itch, like an infestation of nanites was crawling along her skin, causing the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Her gait quickened, she lengthened her stride, pushing on with a new determination. _They needed to get out of here._

"Holy, mate," Wheatley whispered, still fearing that Orion might overhear. Chell held back a sardonic scoff, irritated at his bitter refusal to befriend the bird. "What's got you in a dither? Never seen you move so fast, not since we were chased by _her_. No need to over-exert yourself here, we're not in testing, nothing to be alarmed about just _yet. _I'll give you fair warning—we're not due to reach the vault for another hour, at best."

But before the sentence had fully left his vocal processor, a great, echoing _clank _reverberated around the room, startling bird, core and human alike. Chell froze, her heart beat raising an almost unbearable amount, the panic that had been slowly growing inside of her chest during the greater half of three days threatening to burst. She gasped, Orion let out a loud _squawk, _and Wheatley yelled in shock as the conveyor line behind the grimy window grinded hesitantly forward.

Suddenly the corridor was alive with the sound of running motors, churning cogs.

The core gasped, his optic focused outside the window, clearly surprised. "B-but," he choked. "This part of the facility was supposed to be shut down for good! Sealed off years ago, just as a safety precaution, in case anyone should accidentally press the—arrhuurhhurmm—_neurotoxin release button._ _They _told me! The Scientists! Well—they also told me that if I ever disengaged from my management rail, I'd _die_, and I didn't, still alive, but…"

Chell's eyes were glued to the space behind the window. There was a mechanical thrumming of some sort of a system reboot, the noise of beating fans, a quiet _beep _of a computer start-up coming from the desk beside the window. The screen flickered into life, displaying a bright orange, pixelated version of the Aperture Science logo.

"…but the point is, is that even _she _said so," said Wheatley, confused. "Yes, you _know _who I'm talking about. I heard her chatting about it, complaining, if you will, that she didn't have access to the lower systems and couldn't find the _human vault._ The Scientists, they locked it up for good against _her. _Probably a smart thing, too, cause if I remember right, there's an extra ten thousand subjects in there. They tol' me back when I looked over the extended relaxation place I found you in."

Chell swallowed hard. _Ten thousand __other__test subjects? How many test subjects could this place hold?_

Before she could do as much as blink, before she could fully consider all of what Wheatley had just said, a wide, heavy door was swept open behind the window. An unnecessary amount of steam or smoke billowed out, filling the room with a white, eerie glow. Then, with another great mechanical noise, a large, cylindrical block passed through the doorway, coming to rest for a brief moment, dead-center at the front of the glass.

Chell's mouth opened in complete, unfathomable shock. Her knees weakened, she felt as though she might actually collapse. It took all of her mental resources for her not to keel over right then and there, and instead, she clung limply to the corner of the desk, raising her free hand to rub at her tired eyes. Was she hallucinating?

"_Blimey,_" Wheatley whispered dramatically. _Nope, not hallucinating, then._

A series of three tubes had exited whatever chamber lay beyond the entrance and the doors were swept shut once more. Each tube moved forward, one at a time, the greenish liquid swirling with the motion, the pale, limp forms inside sloshing about almost sickeningly. A large scanner, reminiscent of the turret template scanner from what felt like ages ago, scanned each in turn, and the monitor on the desktop briefly displayed each test subject's file.

These were test subjects, humans from the long lost vault, innocent people who had families, jobs, and had lived on the surface. More testing candidates, kidnapped by the laboratories, about to suffer what would surely be a ruthless round of tests, designed to break, to _kill_. She swallowed hard.

Struck utterly dumb, Chell could not tear her eyes away from each of the varying forms in turn until they had all disappeared beyond her range of vision, called to some unknown place within the factory. Three humans, two male, one female, all tall, slender, with hair that floated almost gracefully, swirling in the serum like thick cords of kelp. Their eyes were closed, heavily lidded, their lips parted with no breath, their chests bare and motionless. They were like ghosts, remnants of sleeping souls, pale and unmarked, almost holy, terrifyingly beautiful. She held her breath, staring, spellbound by the unconscious forms. She was willing to bet everything she had, including Wheatley, that she knew _exactly _where the conveyor was taking them: up to the higher reaches of the facility, to where the test chambers were, for a first round of deadly, terrorizing tests. They'd never survive.

_Don't think about that. Don't think it. They'll make it. One of them, at least. Someone has to._

Instead of lingering, Chell tore her eyes from the now-empty conveyor line, turning her attention to the desktop beside her. The desk was unremarkable, complete with a keyboard, a flat-screen monitor displaying the phrase 'THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING IN THIS ENRICHMENT CENTER ACTIVITY!'.

There were no drawers, no hidden artefacts for her to collect, only an old swivel chair and a single, tripod camera, stationed just beside the chair. It was large and heavy, a black bulk with a medium-sized lens attached to its end, aimed at the computer screen. It was very different from the sorts of cameras she had seen before, lacking any sort of connection with _her. _It had no glaring optic, only hard, convex glass. It had no eye, but one blinking, red dot was visible upon its side, next to a series of dials, labelled with words like 'record', 'rewind', and 'play'.

She stretched out a trembling hand, letting her fingers ghost over its surface, its small dials hard and unfamiliar. As if sensing her touch, the machine _beeped _quietly, and a soft whirr sounded, the red light becoming a steady pulse. Chell twitched, her hand stilled in her surprise.

"Don't touch it," Wheatley warned her. "I've never seen anything like that before. Could be dangerous."

Obediently, she let her hand fall but her stare did not relent.

"Can we get a move on?" Wheatley asked, sounding annoyed, not to mention a little worried. "I don't like this place. Bit creepy, if I'm honest, and I've really no idea where _she's _taking those _humans_. Up to testing, by the sounds of it, can you feel that? The whole place is buzzing."

Yes, she could feel it. She could feel nothing but for days.

"Luckily she'll be paying more attention to testing, and less to us," he whispered.

Chell breathed softly, hoisting the core further onto her shoulder and whistled quietly for Orion to follow. _Yes_, she thought, Wheatley was right. _She'll__be too distracted with testing to notice us down here, if that's the case._

There was still one problem, though. Maybe _her _eye was focused onto the testing tracks miles above, but Chell doubted that the thrill of testing would render _her _blind enough for them to escape unhindered. Maybe the echoing clanking, ever-growing sounds of shifting test chambers meant that her deadly, all-seeing optic was not focused onto this corridor, naïve to their location, but what about the cooperative testing initiative?

This threat hadn't seemed so bad while in the very rugged, disused areas of the facility, but in here, where the machinery still worked and anything could be watching… Part of her was surprised that the robots weren't tailing them right now.

She swung round at the notion, peering over her shoulder. All that was there was the usual, blank corridor.

"Almost there," said Wheatley distractedly. She followed his next directions, descending even further into the facility. He led her down long, rusty stairwells with hanging, unstable stairs threatening to fall lethally into the pits below. She cringed at the noisy steps, trying to reason with herself that her paranoia and the overwhelming, growing sensation of being _followed _was unjustified.

They hadn't found them yet, and they were close, so close to the vault. Just a bit further…

They passed through soulless, abandoned rooms full of rusty fans, ancient railings, and crumbling, fixed ladders, all with several missing rungs. Chell had just ascended one of these, clinging to a stained, yellowed wall for support, heaving her body onto yet another metal platform. It overlooked a square room filled with bits of busted pipes and turrets. She clambered back onto her feet, cringing at the metallic sounds of her boots, and crossed the upper floor, trying her best to concentrate on nothing but the exit.

But then something else caught her attention, making her heart jump into her throat. It was a noise so different from the usual, distant rumble of machinery that Chell couldn't help it, her steps faltered. The sound had been very close at hand, a tittering, uneven tone, distinctly musical? Like some sort of voice.

"Umm… Did you hear something?" the core asked, becoming extremely still.

For about fifteen seconds, nobody moved. Chell hardly dared to breathe. And then…

Then came a patter of mismatched footsteps.

She immediately backed up against a wall and pressed a hand to where she assumed Wheatley's speakers were. Cursing the loudness of her boots, she did her best to move quietly, taking refuge beside an old desk.

Had they heard her? God, she hoped not. She shut her eyes, praying, please, be in here for some other reason…

She visibly jumped as she felt something touch her shoulder lightly, and opened her eyes. It was Orion. He sat upon her shoulder, and she felt her chest loosen a little at his presence.

More silence. She was sweating now, her breathing quick. Acting on a sudden impulse she searched the surface of the old desk—and to her pleasure, she found something.

A crowbar.

How useful would a crowbar be against the robots currently searching through the lower room?

There was the sound of a turret searching. Probably the dysfunctional turret she had passed on the way up here. Then, one of the robots emitted a horrible noise—maybe laughter, but indecipherable if so. Its partner joined in, and there was the sound of a gravity field engaging, and the turret calling out '_put me down!_' but no hailing bullets rang out.

Losing patience, Wheatley hummed against her side. "The exit!" he whispered. "Come on, get a move on before they find us!"

With her jaw locked, knuckles white on the heavy crowbar, she started towards the opening. But her boots gave her away before she had gone two steps, clinking lightly against the floor despite her best attempts to hide the noise.

The sounds of weird laughter stopped, as both robots beneath froze.

"_Uh oh_," gasped Wheatley.

And then came the sound of moving pistons, the sound of the things walking, and Wheatley couldn't take it—

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he called loudly in panic, and the two robots downstairs stopped to listen. "Let's GO!"

And having no choice, she dove towards the exit and below the machines ascended the staircase, chattering to one another. The exit was a small hole in the wall, just big enough for one to fit through, an entrance into yet another turret sentry area.

"JUMP!"

Orion screeched in her ear as she leapt, loud even over the sounds of the robots behind her. He took off, and she wanted to call out to him, _wait!, _but she was already falling down into darkness.

She could still hear Orion, calling what sounded like a bird's battle cry, and the two robots wailed—the footsteps faltered as the bird launched his attack. The racket the robots made was ridiculous, she heard them fighting, swearing at Orion in their own language, clearly distraught.

"Birds," Wheatley panted. "Birds. They-they're afraid of birds. It's our biggest weakness," he trembled.

But she wasn't listening, her heart was torn. She sat in the dark, listening against her will to Orion—he sounded hurt, what was happening? Would he be okay?

"I'm sure it's fine," said Wheatley finally. "We can't afford to wait around and see, though, lady, we'd better go."

The sounds of the fighting constructs faded into the distance. Still, Chell sat in the dark, waiting for her friend to return. He did not.

"Let's go," the core repeated heavily.

A wall panel opened in front of her at her touch. She buried her face in her hands for a minute, trying to gather herself. _Why does everything good in this place have to suffer, _she wondered silently. _If they've murdered him…_

"Yes, you're very upset that he's gone," said Wheatley, watching her. "I understand, but we'll be in even deeper trouble if we don't get a move on, with those constructs sneaking about! We haven't seen the last of them, I'm sure, but they won't follow us into the Test Shafts. I, uhh… I'm pretty sure they won't."

She raised her head, eyes shining with a new determination. Wheatley was right, they needed to get out of here, otherwise-otherwise Orion would have sacrificed… in vain…

Hopping down from the ledge, she found herself within a dark, cramped room, full of giant, green machines. She didn't stop to investigate, instead deciding to ignore the deep thrum of power radiating from them.

Down a dark pathway lined with more shining pistons and panel arms, to the very back of the room… She couldn't help but glance nervously over her shoulder as she walked briskly, her ears sharp, waiting for any sound of following footsteps…

"Nobody," Wheatley said quietly, noticing her reflexive checking. "Common… End of the room, now. This is the turbine room. Don't—don't touch anything. Could be high voltage."

She wasn't inclined to touch anything even without his warning, but she appreciated it all the same. Nodding, she made her way in the direction he meant, trying to dodge lethal-looking wires and exposed coils.

But Orion's fate haunted her. She could not hear him anymore. This room was filled with the hum and bitter scent of live electricity, no hint of any other lifeform. Would he be all right?

"Almost there," the core said, but she wasn't listening. "There'll be a door, I think, and beyond that, another door, and some steps…"

She missed Orion. She missed the bird, the way he'd rest against her cheek as she walked. She still had Wheatley, but somehow it wasn't the same. She wanted something alive, organic, not a machine. There was too much, in this place, too many always after her, trying to kill her…

"Hey, now," he called up at her, seeing her saddened expression. He tried to simulate a smile, but she only bit her lip in reply. "Don't worry about it so much, eh? I'm sure we'll meet up with him again. Can't bring him down into the old test shafts, anyways, could we? Not a place for a bird down there. Not here, either, but, uhh, that's besides the point."

Maybe he was right, but losing Orion didn't feel like a very good omen to Chell. Neither did the knowledge that the cooperative testing initiative had indeed found them. What would happen now? Would she have to continue on like this, paranoid, glancing over her shoulder every two seconds to check that they were alone?

"Anyways," he continued as she walked, "We're getting close. This is the very bottom, here."

And the bottom it was—the ground was rusted, in places covered with engine oil and other, unmentionable slimes. Though down here, there were no green panel eyes for _her _to watch from, but Chell still felt the persistent chill of being constantly observed by some unknown witness. If only she had her friend here, to fly ahead, warn her of any sign of oncoming danger…

She followed Wheatley's direction through the door at the end of the hall, and through another. In the cramped spaces, between the switches and levers lining the walls, warning posters had been pasted, their surfaces nearly illegible from age.

One of them read:

_CONDEMNED RESEARCH AREA_

_NO ACCESS BEYOND THIS POINT EXCEPT FOR AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY_

Another warning poster read:

_ABANDONMENT HATCH TO TEST SHAFT TEN_

_Do Not Enter—SEALED January 31st, 1986_

And a third:

_VITRIFICATION NOTICE:_

_Date to be executed—January 31st, 2033_

_This test shaft is hereby protected under the US Department of Defense in partnership with Aperture Science Innovators, Est. 1943_

Beyond, another steel-plated door let to another hallway, and eventually a stairway.

"Oh," said Wheatley as Chell entered the darkest hall yet, "It's dark, hey? Do be careful and mind your step."

He courteously flicked on his flashlight, but it did little good, for the area she appeared to be descending into was a large expanse of black space.

She clung to the railing, trying not to slip. The end of the stair (if there was one) lay completely in darkness, for even Wheatley's light could not penetrate that far.

_SLAAAM!_

Chell jumped about a mile and staggered on the stair—the door had slammed shut of its own accord, sending an echoing crash through the darkened air. The next second, her hands had flown rapidly over her head to shield herself as a blinding light flickered on, hitting her straight in the face.

"ARRRGHH!" Wheatley yelled in surprise. "Wha—well, then, there's, uhh… light. Great. Don't need this old thing anymore, then."

And he turned off his flashlight.

He was half right—the light illuminated the stair with a yellowish, orange hue (the beam was falling from one of the sensor lights, belonging to the backup system), lighting a circumference of about twenty feet. Beyond the edges, however, was pitch blackness.

Chell waited for her heartbeat to return to normal before proceeding down the rest of the stairs. She was jumpy enough, and the last thing she needed was a door-slamming induced heart attack…

"So," said the core as she reached the bottommost stair. "We're looking for the hatch override. Should be somewhere around here…"

He looked to and fro, as if hoping to find a sign, or directions somewhere.

She shook her head, once again wishing Orion was with them still. She could have sent him ahead, for he could probably see in the dark much better than she could…

"Find the hatch override, and, uhh, figure out how that works. Probably have to hack our way through a good bit of security… Not a problem for expert hackers like ourselves."

He said this last part so enthusiastically, with so much confidence, Chell stared. Since when was she an expert hacker? _Wheatley _wasn't even an expert, not by a long shot, but she found the core's sureness somehow uplifting.

And in return she gave him… well, a hug. She pulled him into her middle and squeezed him gently, ignoring how he jabbed his handles uncomfortably into her middle.

"Mmmmf," he tried to say, his voice muffled. She laughed. "All right—that's enough. Enough. Enough, I say, did you hear me?"

Chuckling, she let him swing back to her side, bumping softly against her hip.

But before she moved out of their shared circle of light, he looked up at her, and she looked down at him. Their gaze connected and nobody flinched, nobody spoke, just stared.

For that minute, she forgot about the danger of the situation, forgot about Orion's fateful sacrifice, about what they were about to do. She was looking at him from across an ocean, yet she had never felt closer to him—somehow, she was sort of grateful for everything that had led up to this point. She felt the beginnings of understanding connect and click via their gaze, closing the gap between machine and human by a mite.

She looked away, her forehead creased, unsure of what to do next. She pulled him awkwardly over her shoulder so that she wouldn't have to look at him, disliking how silent he was.

What was he thinking? She hoped that he hadn't felt what she just had. She shook her head, her face becoming a deadpan stare, just as expressionless as a brick wall, and stepped out of the circle of light.

The core's flashlight was re-activated. "Here goes nothing," he whispered, quieter than ever.

It was gloomy here, filled with a thick, dead air. The core's flashlight barely permeated the heaviness, spreading no more than a few paces ahead. All around the edges was darkness, but not wholly so. In the distance, the air held some of its own light, revealing the silhouettes of giant, coiled springs and maybe the vague outline of fences and stairways.

Chell couldn't help it, she coughed and choked. It didn't smell bad, per se, but it was harder to breathe here than inside the facility. It felt like the air was unsubstantial, older than time itself. Had a living soul ever ventured down here besides herself within the past decade?

Down here, nothing lived, nothing grew or moved or _felt. _It had been so long, the sensation was poisonous, seeping into her very soul.

"Odd place, isn't it, this," said Wheatley, his voice startlingly loud in contrast with the sheer nothingness. "And look! Giant springs, holding up the facility! Who would have thought, eh?"

She knew he was trying to be cheerful for her sake. She shot him half of a wistful smile, one hand still resting upon a rough stone wall. It was the same she had descended down not ten minutes ago.

According to him, there should have been an office of sorts around here, probably inlaid inside of the rock wall. She followed it in silence, listening to the eerie creaking and echoing sounds of movement, reverberating from distant places within this hellish basement.

The surface she guided her hand over suddenly changed, the coarse, black surface changing instantaneously to smooth, cold steel. There was a door here, set with one solitary window, showing what was surely a dark, small office.

"This is it," Wheatley whispered in her ear.

The door swung inward with a _creak, _loud enough in the darkness to give Chell goosebumps. "Quiet, quiet, careful now," the core advised her as she stepped inside, her breath sharp and hesitant as she squinted around for a lightswitch.

She found it by the door—two bars of fluorescent lighting flashed on and she blinked in surprise. It was an office, very tiny, set with only a single desk and dual mainframe towers.

"Hatch override control room," said Wheatley, reading a sticker stamped across the top of the desk.

At his words, Chell looked up through the murky window into the wide expanse of nothingness beyond. Only, it wasn't nothingness, not here—there was something out there, laid low against the ground, visible as only a darkened lip of material jutting sharply up from the floor.

It was a test shaft hatch, sealed securely, its spherical shape a ghost in the night. It was huge, most of it lying outside of her range of vision, and she shuddered—their destination was through that monstrous hatch.

"It's big, isn't it," Wheatley followed her gaze, peering into the darkness. "Quite a lot bigger than I expected. I have heard stories, I have, but none of them really put it into perspective, you know?"

She nodded seriously, not really understanding what he meant at all. She was more interested in the computer upon the desk.

There was a mouldy chair, here—she sat down on it, letting Whealtey fall from her shoulder onto her lap. She dropped the crowbar she'd carried with her since the room with the robots and let herself relax a little, sinking into the smelly cushions. In front of her, the computer's monitor displayed nothing but static.

"Right," the core said, his voice full of concentration. "Hm. Lots of dials and buttons here, aren't there? Not a problem, not a problem, should be easy for me to, umm, hack. Might as well just lie back, like that, let me… take a look…"

But evidently, Chell was a bit more computer-savvy than Wheatley had expected. She was by no means a genius, but having had to live with them for all her life, turning on a computer wasn't exactly a challenge. She depressed a small button on its side and it let out a single _beep, _just as the screen powered on with the usual Aperture logo.

Wheatley was trying to watch her, his optic barely able to see past the surface of the desk from his position in the middle of her lap. "Can't see," he grumbled, trying to hoist himself up with his handles—Chell shifted uncomfortably and he fell back. "D'you—could you lift me up, mate?"

Chell did not answer him, but she lifted him a little higher so that he could see over the desk.

"Ahh," he said, finally catching a glimpse of the loading screen. "Not the words 'password identified', not yet, but we'll have to fix that, won't we?"

The loading finished, and all that was left was a black screen awaiting a command. Chell bit her lip, thinking… there was a keyboard here, too… would she have to enter commands into the computer? Because she knew next to nothing about computer programming…

"Go ahead, yeah?" prompted Wheatley. "You're the hands, so to speak, of this operation. Good old hands. You'll need to use those to, ahh, _hack._"

She cracked her knuckles in preparation, trying not to let her misgivings show on her face, and then raised her fingertips to the keyboard. Most of the letters had been worn away and were now indecipherable. It didn't help, especially since her knowledge of basic written language wasn't much better than a child's was—the odd sign she knew how to read around the facility was second-nature, and not useful if she needed to actually spell out words on her own.

She selected two keys and spelled out the only word she could think of that might be fitting—an 'H', immediately followed by 'I'.

_Enter._

The blank screen flickered as more words joined her own:

—_**AS-**__**DOS V.1.07a Prototype [terminal 9374-32] (C) Copyright 1985 Aperture Science Laboratories. All Rights Reserved.**_

_Press START to continue._

The lettering paused, and the last phrase flashed, prompting her to press 'start'. Unfortunately, if such a button had ever been labelled, then its label had long since faded away. She scanned the dusty keyboard between her fingers in confusion.

"Umm… press the 'start' key?" said Wheatley unhelpfully. She rolled her eyes—pity he didn't see. _Honestly, core, I think I could figure that out on my own…_

He must have caught some off her annoyance, though, for a second later he had a much more useful suggestion:

"Oh—which button? The, err—the big one?"

Trusting that Wheatley had a much better understanding of computers than she did, Chell rammed her thumb into the biggest and squarest of the lot.

She just about jumped a mile in the air when the computer beeped loudly in reply, and the last phrase was joined with more small, white lettering and indecipherable coding.

_The SYS file is pre-initializing the terminal. …_

_The SYS file is requesting access to the network at (DOS __V.1.07a Prototype__)_

_Connecting to host…_

_An unexpected error has occurred. Network (DOS __V.1.07a Prototype__) cannot be found. Attempting to connect with alternate network (GLaDOS V.2.0)_

_Connection complete._

_You are now attached to the server. _

_Please enter your username and press ENTER to access system database: __

_Okay, straightforward enough_, she thought, feeling a bit relieved. So she just needed a username, then? That wasn't too difficult, was it?

"Quick! Think of a combination we haven't used yet!" Wheatley called out unexpectedly from her lap. "Are you ready?" he glanced up anxiously. "A-A-A-A-X… No. Nothing. A-A-A-A…Y?"

Chell let her hands explore the keyboard, entering random letters and obliterating them until she found the right ones.

"A-A-A-A, apostrophe…" mumbled Wheatley as she worked.

_Username: DRattmann__

"What've you got, there? That's not an apostrophe, luv."

_ENTER._

The computer ran through a series of confirmations in a language she could not understand, before:

_Please enter your password and press ENTER to access system database: __

Chell frowned at the computer screen. A password?

"Oh, now we're _really _done for," Wheatley groaned from her legs.

But she was smiling—she knew what she had to do.

_Password: Unreason__

_ENTER._

_Initializing…_

_Password confirmed._

"Ho, ho, well _done!_" called Wheatley in congratulations. Chell let out her breath, allowing her smile to widen as the computer screen flashed with a completely new message.

_It worked, _she thought, staring in amazement. _His password worked._

**~~~WELCOME BACK, USER (D. Rattmann, Head of Aperture Image Formatting), TO APERTURE SCIENCE~~~**

Last login date: January 30th, 1986

Current login date: July 31st, 2032

_You are logged on to terminal __9374-32 via network __GLaDOS V.2.0_

_Terminal location: Up. Hatch Override Station 10_

**~~~HOW MAY WE HELP YOU TODAY?~~~**

She froze, her hands still extended over the keyboard. In her lap, Wheatley made a quiet, inquisitive noise, but she ignored him. She was captivated by the information on the screen:

_Last login date: January 30__th__, 1986._

How long had she been trapped inside of this place, then? Surely it hadn't been _that _long? Why, judging by those dates, that was a gap of about—about forty-five _years_!

—No.

No, it couldn't be. She would've died in cryosleep, she couldn't have—

_You've got brain damage_, said a terrible voice in her head. _You came pretty close to dying in there. _

_Forget the brain damage, _she tried to tell herself._ Nobody else has ever made it this far._

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall into her palms, trying to clear her mind. Then, she breathed deeply, eyes a little blurred from the pressure, and tried to decide what to do.

_Think. What needs to be done…_

_MANUAL_

She typed this word out, slowly but surely.

"Yes, very good," commented Wheatley in mock celebration. "'Manual'."

_HATCH_

Chell swallowed hard as she entered the last word—

_OVERRIDE._

And then, for good measure, she hit _ENTER._

_Validating Command (please wait)…_

_Command confirmed. _

_USER (DRattmann), please note that the initialization of hatch override via terminal 9374-32 requires human USER authentication before access can be granted to restricted area (Up. Hatch 10). _

_(Up. Hatch 10) has been sealed as of January 31__st__, 1986, in accordance with state and federal regulations. It is a class 5 condemned research area, admittance will be granted to authorized personnel only or members of the USDoD._

_Press ENTER to begin USER authentication._

Without hesitation, without even bothering to read half of the cramped lettering on the screen, she pressed the 'enter' button.

"Oh, oh, you did it!" called Wheatley in surprise. "Well d—"

His sentence was cut short by an unexpected _scrape _from behind. Chell immediately swivelled on the chair in shock, meaning to find the source of the noise—but before she could move more than an inch, something metallic and impossibly strong had grabbed hold of her left arm.

"_Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!_" yelled Wheatley in shock as Chell scrambled in fright—she fell from the chair and the core rolled away, still shouting and writhing. On her knees, she wrestled the thing—the machine, whatever it was—but she was no match for it. It hoisted her right into the air, towards its source, one of the innocent-looking mainframe towers she had seen earlier.

"OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO DIE!" she heard him scream over the sound of whirring mechanical parts—it pulled her close until she was nearly touching the machine. It leeched onto her via strong metal feelers, and something came out, something directed towards her face—

"Human USER authentication commencing," said an unknown, computerized voice.

It was a laser, bright green and searching. It tickled her skin as she squirmed but did not burn her, and once it had finished scanning, the machine disengaged—

And she dropped to the floor. Breathing hard, she skidded towards Wheatley and pulled him into her arms.

"What," he whispered into her, "was THAT."

She shook her head, still short of breath.

Upon the monitor, a final message was displayed.

**~~~HATCH OVERRIDE COMPLETE. THE ENRICHMENT CENTER WISHES YOU A PLEASANT DAY~~~**

Then, suddenly, the ground beneath her trembled alarmingly. It was a rumbling crash, coming from just outside of the office, and Chell staggered to her feet, her arms around the core.

A cloud of cement dust had exploded around the hatch. She watched, dumbstruck, as the giant hinge opened up to a hole, blacker than black. It was a massive, bloody impressive structure, tall enough to rival a skyscraper. It rose ominously, blotting out everything else from her field of vision.

The pit underneath was so dark that it was visible only as solid blackness through the torrents of dust. It finally ceased moving, and Chell felt her breath return to her—Wheatley's optic blinked—she felt like a statue carved of stone, unable to move.

After everything, after all they had both sacrificed to get here… it was time.

They were here. Test Shaft Ten was opened, a monstrous hole… a pit through which their path was leading.

There was no going back now.


	12. Unvitrified Door Prize

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Twelve - Door Prize  
**

* * *

And then there was silence.

The whisper of Chell's breath was the only sound, for even Wheatley remained still. He was motionless in her arms, gently rocked by the quiet sigh of her breathing. It was somehow calming, like waves of an ocean, carrying them forever onward.

He blinked, and so did she; eyes straining through the settling dust and gloom, searching for movement. She was tense, and her entire body was rigid, ready to fly at the merest hint of danger. For now, the coast appeared to be clear, and the series of mainframes beside her let out one last, solitary beep. It was a short sound of farewell, echoing in the deepening silence before the monitor winked into blackness.

Wheatley simulated a quick, throat-clearing noise, wiggling his inner casing in her arms. His bottom handle shifted, pressing against her stomach as he attempted to peer at the now-opened vault. He had his look and then spun his optic sensor nearly all the way up to stare at Chell's chin, bobbing with each breath.

"Um," he began, earning a jolt of surprise from the woman. She sighed, and then without warning, without letting him finish his thought, she pulled the core unceremoniously back over her shoulder.

"All right, then," Wheatley started, sounding optimistic. "Let's do this thing, get it over with, so to speak. In about six hours' time, we should be up on the surface drinking ice-cold soda pops. Or, you will be, and I'd be joining you, if I _had _a mouth… Instead I'll just watch."

Her clear eyes flashed with determination, reflecting the fluorescent lighting from above. She gritted her teeth, and tugged Wheatley higher over her shoulder before sinking momentarily to her knees to gather the metal crowbar from the floor.

The first few steps outside of the office showed her that it was just as dark out here as it had been before the Test Shaft had been opened. Courteously, the core flicked on his flashlight without a word—it was a habit by now—and she squinted into the half-light, following the narrow, dancing beam of light.

What had previously been semi-smooth ground, interspersed with slight, uneven hills was now pockmarked with slabs of stone, all of which had been blown away from the lip of the vault during the opening. The majority of the dust had settled, leaving a powder-like substance strewn across the ground. Little puffs of this material were exhaled from under her feet with each step, like she was walking over a dry, barren wasteland at dusk, leaving a slender trail of footprints. Wheatley's optic was now the only source of light in sight, her personal moon in the dead of night. Chell worried that she'd step right off the edge of the world without knowing in these conditions, and fall straight to her death in that deep, dark void.

But closer inspection showed her that this would not have been possible. The lip of the cavern was a raised, stone barricade, ending at waist-height. She knew that this had not been placed here to prevent accidental falls, for it was beyond Aperture to care for such things; it was part of the heavy seal that had been implemented, the vacuum separating the new Enrichment Center from the old.

"There should be a lift…"

She caught the quaver in his voice, despite how hard he was trying to keep it steady. Loose stones and gravel crunched under her footsteps as she slowly circled the circumference of the giant hole, searching for a way inside. Her heartbeat was an ever-present rhythm, beating in time with her step. Wheatley's subtle movement in his casing creaked rhythmically, each dart of his optic emitting the low sound of moving gears.

"There," he directed. "Just there, ahead. That'll take us… Down."

A break in the divider showed the beginning of another catwalk, suspended partially over the hole. She stepped lightly onto this, holding the core close to her side, her hand sliding upon the slender railing.

Ahead, at the end of the rectangular platform, was a glowing, green button.

Wheatley's optic lingered on this for a moment, before he spoke in low, serious tones. "Look," he told her fearfully, "I know that we've come a long way. We've _both _risked a lot to get us here. This is, perhaps, the best, most watertight, brilliant-est plan that I've ever come up with, and you're the best human of the lot. We're guaranteed to get out, now, right? Now that we've reached the vault, and everything?—Provided that what we are looking for is down there, of course."

While he spoke, she watched him—his flickering optic, waxing and waning with each word. He was doubting his plan, that much was clear to her, despite whatever he was saying.

"There's _gotta _be a backup system. I've said before, I know, but I'm not sure… not exactly sure what it is we're looking for. I've heard a lot of… things…"

He shivered, and Chell had the distinct impression that he hadn't been completely honest with her from the start.

"I do remember that we shook on it, agreeing we'd be a team, forever, just you and I, escaping together… only… thought I'd mention one thing, before we go _down in there._ If you _did _want to go this part alone, renegade agent and all, it's quite fine by me. I—don't really like the look of that big hole, to be honest. Much more frightening than I thought it would be."

Chell glared at him, her hand inches from the button. Her eyes shone even through the darkness, filled with annoyance, a hint of pity and sadness. After all they'd been through to get here, all the trials and adventures, and here he was… having second thoughts?

_Tough luck, buddy, _she chuckled darkly to herself. _You __**said **__this was the only way out._

"I—well," he stuttered, picking up on her expression. "I _know _what I said, and I never lied, don't look at me like that!—I just _meant_, that-that _if _you _were _to-to want to go the rest of it alone, I completely understand. I still remember what happened the last time we-we plugged some_thing …else… _into the mainframe. Did _not _end well, I think you'll agree, and maybe-maybe you'd _better _do it alone. I don't think I could stand…"

Chell shifted one of her legs uncomfortably, the rustle of the jumpsuit the only noise breaking the awkward silence. For the first time in what felt like a very, very long time, Wheatley showed signs of not _wanting _to continue his ramble.

He did not want a repeat of _that time _in which she had plugged him accidentally into the mainframe. Very well, neither did _she… _And yet, here he was, terrified of the same incident occurring again?

She wasn't going to let that happen again.

Was he afraid of what they might find in the secret depths of the Laboratories?

Like _she _wasn't?

_You're coming with me, core, whether you like it or not, _she tried to tell him, remembering the promise he made to her. Not to mention, _he _was the one with the so-called directions!

"…Oh, but that's _right_," he suddenly remembered. "I've got the—_map thing_. All right, fine, I'll go. Might as well get on with it, then, sooner than later. If I die, though, and you make it out alive, do you think you could do one thing for me?"

She made eye contact with him, curious, but he blinked and looked away.

"C-could you…" he began. "I know it sounds a bit, well—_funny_, really—but w-would it be possible, if I were to die and you survived—could you still take me with you? To-to the surface?" he choked hesitantly.

It was Chell's turn to blink in confusion, but she nodded all the same.

"And, quit looking at me like that, wouldya?"

She suppressed a bit of silent laughter, her hand hovering over the button. _Why _on earth Wheatley wanted her to take his potentially non-functional core-body up to the surface with her if the worst should happen, she had no idea.

Or—well that was a lie, really, since she didn't even _know __**what **_she'd find on the surface. There could very well be a way to fix him up there!

Wheatley was too busy watching her free hand, dangling over the glowing button, to pay attention to her face. "Warn me or something, before you press that," he told her. "No surprise button-pressing, it's not nic—AAAAARGHH!"

She had jammed her whole fist into the button. Wheatley ducked inside his casing, his optic shivering, trembling into her side like some weird therapeutic device. The platform jarred alarmingly as the entire thing broke away from the vault's side with a ringing, echoing _crash._

It swung wildly, and Chell gripped the railing tightly with hot, sweating hands. Wheatley made a noise of fright, a small, quiet squeak like a mouse, as his optic shrinking to a pinpoint of light. She resisted the urge to smack him, for she had no need for a brighter beam of light down here—no amount of radiance would be able to permeate the solid, black wall which was unfolding around them.

With another loud clatter, the platform descended further and further. In a manner of minutes, the darkness had swallowed them whole, and all that Chell could see was the outline of Wheatley, his flashlight illuminating the cracks between his inner and outer casings. His optic was darting around with a nervous whirr, trying to penetrate the blackness in vain; Chell tried to ignore him, and slinked back into a corner of the lift. She closed her eyes, wiping her sweating hands on her jumpsuit, wishing that she could at least _see _what horror she was plunging into.

And then, as though the Enrichment Center had read her mind—a great, echoing _boom_ rang out, shaking the lift. From the base of the chamber to the very top, row upon row of pale lighting flashed on. It was not the bright, sun-like lighting that lit most of the facility, but the old, yellow-orange glow of backup systems, shining down from every ledge and doorframe that covered the sides of the vault.

They were hanging in the center of a square room, many lengths taller than the usual test chamber. It had to be a central station, for along its edges ran many disjointed, rusty catwalks, connecting many other doors and strange apparatuses. Some of these rusted bridges spanned the cavernous vault, joined together to form a criss-crossing mass of interconnecting paths. These were suspended by thick, black cables, swinging with an eerie hum, their low screeches echoing around the otherwise silent chamber.

Below, Chell could make out the series of pipes that made up the chamber's floor. These were wide tubes with silver surfaces all tarnished with age, each joint cemented together with bolts the size of her fist. They ran the course of the room, beginning in some sort of huge pump station, half of which disappeared through the floor. Their ends spread out like many-fingered hands, vanishing into an assortment of cracks and crevices cut into the chamber walls and floor.

The platform halted, latching onto an open-ended catwalk with a loud _slam_, and Chell instantly let go of the railing. The metal doors swung open noiselessly, and she held her breath, stepping out onto the catwalk beyond.

"O-oh," Wheatley stuttered, daring to open his optic (which had closed in fright at the loud _bang _of lights flashing on). "I—it's not going to take us any further down, then, luv? I-I _did _sort of hope that we could have avoided the whole _marching along over dreadful pits thing_ for once, but it doesn't look as though we've got _quite _the luck, does it?"

It was perfectly true—the snarl of mechanics and pipes was at least a good fifty feet below. Their catwalk contained a total of three junctions, each end splitting off to service different areas. Two of these ended in thick steel doors, which were probably locked, as Wheatley wasted no time in informing her. The third, however, bridged the entire gap, its end gloomy and dim but still visible in the poor lighting.

"'Gel Station Delta'," Wheatley read off of the side of the wall, the letters splashed high upon a cracked ledge opposite them in red, peeling paint. "Y'know, mate, if I didn't know any better I'd say that by 'Gel' they mean _Mobility Gel_. Ugh," At his own suggestion, his optic shrank and he rattled in fear, obviously disliking the sudden, sharp glare that Chell tossed towards him. She was completely thrown off guard by the suggestion, but she let out her breath slowly, nodding—_yes_, she thought, _it must mean Mobility Gel._

Wheatley did not appear comforted by her lack of a real response. "I'm sure you remember that stuff," he continued. "Nasty _Conversion Gel and all_—from a-a less… _unfortunate_… time…" he rambled unwillingly. "Back in the—n-not-so-good-ol'-days. D-don't mean to mention that, though, just thought it was a-a, umm, interesting coincidence that we should find Gel down here…"

Her shoulders heaved, and she continued heavily down the catwalk, jolted momentarily from her surroundings by the revelation of shared memories, each as unwelcome to the host as the next. It didn't last long, though—for a moment later, Chell discovered that her chosen path ended not in just another doorway as she had presumed, but an entirely separate room.

She could see windows upon its side, lots of them, all yawning into the wide chamber. It must have been an observation lounge of some sort, she thought, since it appeared to contain no other entrance or exit. What other reason would such a small chamber have been built onto the side of such a large room, anyways?

"I've just thought of something," Wheatley whispered from underneath her arm, still shaking. "I mean, what if—what if that sign really _does _mean Mobility Gel. We haven't a portal device, and unless I'm much mistaken, wherever there is Gel, the testing track isn't far behind. Actually, my internal map reference is telling me—"

Chell held a solitary finger up to her lips and blew.

Wheatley fell silent automatically.

Privately, she agreed wholeheartedly. She'd felt nothing but nervousness at the knowledge that she had entered a potentially dangerous area of Aperture without one for the last while. Not even Wheatley could reassure her anymore, for she was positive that despite his still-cheerful monologue, they _did _have very good reason to be worried. Her last memories of entering one of these test shafts were enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, along with more unpleasant things. It was a gut feeling, undeniable, that _something _was not right, and that something was about to go very, very wrong.

Without Wheatley's monologue, the near total silence of the chamber was dreadful.

The catwalk groaned beneath her boots as she crossed the void to the room, the long supporting cables stretching and swaying to connect with an invisible ceiling. If she strained her eyes, she thought she could make out a tiny dot of light, maybe the distant prick of fluorescence from the room way back with the computer she'd hacked.

The metal beneath her shuddered and stretched. It was the only sound besides the gentle tap of her boots, the rustle of her suit; the squeaking of metal reverberated eerily, and not until her foot crossed the threshold of the observation lounge did she breathe deeply again.

Simultaneously, Wheatley let out a giant gasp of non-existent air. "_Wow_," he squeaked. "That's better. Man alive, what is _with _these-these _scientists _and _heights_? For god's sake, what's so wrong about, say, I don't know—having a proper _floor_? _It's not like floors are important or anything_. That's sarcasm by the way, because floors are ingenious things, really—much better than bottomless pits, or walkways that look like they haven't been used in centuries and are about ready to _give out right beneath us_, for that matter."

But Chell did not respond—she was too busy examining the room which she had just entered. Her first thought that this was an observation lounge was _half _correct: it was, in essence, a workstation probably used by the scientists to keep an eye on the pump station below, but it was also some sort of control room.

In the corner of the narrow, rectangular chamber sat what had to be the control booth. Its yellowed surface was covered with a thick layer of ancient dust, its age magnified by the tungsten-colored glow from the low overhead lighting. This fell across her own face, deepening the dark shadows under each of her eyes, outlining the layers of grime and dirt smeared across the back of each hand as they ghosted over the machine's surface.

Someone had left a coffee cup sitting on a high ledge to the side of the controls. It was faded and orange, and any hint of coffee had long since evaporated—but the words 'I hate Mondays' were still etched sadly upon its side.

Chell's crystal eyes lingered upon this for a moment, taking in the notion that at one time, there actually _had _been people working down here. In its current state, it was hard for her to imagine scientists working in Test Shaft Ten at _all_.

"'I hate Mondays'," Wheatley chuckled. "Classic."

She found herself a little annoyed at how he seemed to find this somehow amusing, but she did not remark upon it. Instead, she focused on the set of lights that dominated the main panel of the control booth, culminating in a rather large, hefty lever.

Cracked lips curled into a hesitant smile. She fingered the lever, an idea of what it might do floating vaguely through her mind, tugging at her curiosity. Hadn't she vowed to herself not to touch buttons whose function she did not know? Hadn't it been a permanent rule, number (what was she on, now? Rule number three-thousand-and-forty-three? It felt like it), not to throw more switches than she'd need? _I should write a book_, she chuckled to herself. _The Aperture Science Escape Manual: What Not To Do When Escaping From Your AI Nemesis. _Yes—page nine, 'never press buttons or pull switches unless the result is known and deemed safe'.

Page one: 'never press buttons when requested to by the Intelligence Dampening Sphere'.

She giggled openly, flushing a little with embarrassment, very glad that he could not read her thoughts. After all they'd been through together, it was probably a low-blow, and it left her feeling guilty but still smiling like—well, like a _moron._

"_What's _so funny?" Wheatley asked, while scanning the control booth as if he was going to find a private joke imprinted upon the display of colorful lights and switches. "Am I missing something? Want to let me in on the joke? It's good you find the current situation funny. Optimism in the face of certain death is a brilliant quality to have, mate."

She stopped laughing, still smiling wistfully to herself. It shouldn't have been _that _funny—it was _mean_, and she vowed not to do such a thing again, not since they were supposed to _trust _each other.

Wheatley blinked, and she gazed down at him and grinned, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He laughed softly, his eye suddenly shining, and she couldn't help it—she felt a twinge of confidence and security that couldn't quite be explained.

_I've been trapped in this blasted place with only computers for company for far, far too long_, she decided, shaking her head at the core but still smiling.

"You aren't thinking of pulling that, are you?" Wheatley asked, unsure, all evidence of amusement suddenly gone. "Look—I don't want to alarm you, but we do happen to be dealing with unstable substances down here. Doesn't mean that we're in any danger, not yet, not unless you decide to go walking around flipping switches willy-nilly. But surely a smart test subject such as yourself has already thought of that. No—you're not going to pull it… are you?"

Her eyes scanned the surface of the machine, taking in the many pressure gauges and dials, all of them reading 'Current Gel Pressure at 0%'. There was a map, too, of what she guessed must be the interior of Test Shaft Ten—there was a series of spheres, all connected by lines marked with arrows, and the words 'gel flow'.

By the look of it, this test shaft was just as gigantic as the other had been, and was probably constructed very similarly. She ripped her eyes away from the poster, to stare down at the solitary lever instead.

"I don't think you should pull that switch," Wheatley was saying.

A red light was lit beside it, a peeling, faded label reading 'Pressure Control'.

"Are you listening?"

Last time, she had _needed _to activate the Gel to escape, hadn't she?

"Hello? I _said _no switch-pulling. What you're doing right now is not the exact opposite, per se, but perhaps we'd be better off with just leaving, and trying to find a different way out…"

She breathed slowly, letting her hand grip the switch. Wheatley was whispering yet more words of warning, but she was not listening—already her fist was lowering the lever, the mechanism emitting a deep _clunk_ as the lock disengaged, and the solid red light flashed dark, to be replaced with a brilliant, glowing green.

"Oh—_brilliant. _That's gone and done it, then. Well done, I must say," he groaned in obvious irritation.

It wasn't without reason, though, for a second later a great, vibrating _whirr _filled the space, beginning from the very depths of the room beneath them. Chell hesitated, her usually tanned, sooty face growing pale, as she ignored the words of exasperation still oozing from the core. She plucked up her courage and crossed to the window, peering with her sharp eyes to see what sort of disturbance was going on down below.

"I _knew _you shouldn't have pulled it. I _knew _it. I think now's a good a time as any to say it—_I told you so_."

Chell tapped a fingernail in frustration against his hull and he fell silent, the faint blue hue of his optic glinting, reflected by the thick glass in front of him. Beyond, she could see that the once-motionless pump station's grinding, ancient gears had been set into motion, producing what looked like large quantities of some sticky, sickly-red glue.

If she hadn't known any better, and if it hadn't been slightly _luminous_, she would have perceived that it was rusty-colored blood. A torrent of it spurted out from a torn segment between two pipe joints, tearing the gap even further open by the pure pressure of it. It was foul-looking, spraying itself over most of the wall opposite, covering the floor with glowing puddles of reddish rusty liquid.

"Ugh," Wheatley groaned, appalled. "That's _disgusting_, and blimey, I didn't think that it'd still be operational after _all _these years. Don't touch it, luv, it'll probably give you a disease."

Chell nodded, but her eyes were focused upon something at the far side of the room. She hadn't seen it before, as her back had been towards it, but along the opposite wall there was a half-boarded up chute, marked _elevator shaft._

"On second thought, you'd better make proper sure that you don't get any of that _Gel _on me, either, okay? No idea what it'd do to my CPU. Probably bugger me up pretty well. Yeah, best we don't get anywhere _near _it, if you please."

But that elevator shaft looked functional, unlike the others had been—evidently Wheatley had not spotted it yet—and looked to be the only actual exit from the now gel-covered room. She hiked the core higher up over her shoulder and ducked through the doorway, her boots sounding the usual _clack clack _against the catwalk's steel grate.

Outside, the expected stench of Mobility Gel was absent, which was of note—usually the substance reeked of an unpleasant mixture, somewhere between stale paint and still-wet cement. Conversion Gel had been the worst of the lot, reeking of a metallic substance, which Chell reminded herself was probably the element of pure, poisonous mercury (_Cave Johnson _had lost no time in informing her, over pre-recorded messages that the Gel was made of lunar sediment and countless other probably-deadly elements).

This Gel smelled different: perhaps its scent was more similar to that of oil-based lubricants, mixed with a hint of heavy metal and some kind of chemical substance (maybe silicone?). It also seemed to congeal slightly, with loose droplets migrating to form larger puddles, as if complying with some invisible, magnetic force.

Neither of these things made her feel very nervous, though; the fact that this material was _glowing _was more worrisome to her. It was not luminous enough to radiate its own light, but in the dank, dark air of the chamber, it shone only second brightest to the rows of lights glinting from high upon each wall. It emitted a sort of red twinkle, as if suspended inside of it were thousands of minuscule, moving parts, chattering away, buzzing happily in a gel-based language. Whatever the cause, Chell felt certain that this Gel was not something she wanted to spend too much time around. Experience had taught her that anything within the Laboratories capable of producing light was usually sentient, and therefore dead-set on slaying her.

_Yeah_, she groaned to herself. _You know you've been in this place for too long when you convince yourself that a freaking blob of __**liquid **__is about to come __**alive **__and kill both of us. Stop it, self… It's a __**Gel**__, not a __**machine**__, right? Two very, very different things, I'd hope._

Blinking, she tried to tear her eyes away from the red substance (which was now forming linear paths all by itself across the floor, fusing blobs of itself together). It was very different than the other Gels, yet somehow still liquid, and the old testing part of her brain longed to discover its properties. She still made a mental note not to touch it, however—it was probably the sort of Gel that would kill her upon contact, like corrosive acid. It _looked _like it.

"Can't tell you how grateful I am that you do seem to share with me the desire _not _to fall to our deaths into this pit," said Wheatley. "You're sort of like my rail now, aren't you? Could chuck me right off of the side, if you wanted. Not a good thought, argh, not a good thought…" he cringed, blinking his optic shut rather than look at anything from their lofty position. "Please don't do that. I-I know, given what we've been through, if any of us _deserves _to be cast off of a rail into-into a bloody _pit_ it'd be me. Believe me, I am aware. I…"

He looked suddenly awkward, blinking his optic open to stare at her in alarm. Chell shrugged, and nodded her head in the direction she was headed, to the elevator shaft, not knowing what else to do to comfort the core.

"Elevator shaft. Yeah, I see it," he sighed. "I—I'm feeling a little funny, to be honest. Now that we're _here_, actually _doing _stuff, about to escape and all—it's taken _forever_, and I…"

He fell silent again, and Chell couldn't help but wonder what it was that kept the core from finishing his sentence. It wasn't like him, not at all, usually he couldn't do anything _except _talk, but for once she thought she caught a glint in his eye, reminiscent of an earlier time spent together.

He looked _sorry_.

She shook him. _Now's not the time for that, Wheatley, _she thought.

He was silent the rest of the way as she navigated through a series of interconnecting catwalks, never even commenting on the condition of the elevator shaft once she got there.

Someone, or something, had smashed the decorative glass that had once spanned the area atop the entrance to the lift, and sheets of plywood had been nailed to the inside as a quick fix. Shards still littered the catwalk at her feet, tinkling out a pleasant chime as they shifted beneath her, some falling with a ringing clatter into the pit below.

The lift's doors were a pair of metal grates, which did look fully non-functional—they were bent, their sides crooked at twenty-degree angles as if someone had wrenched them apart with brute force. The doorway revealed a deep, dark shaft, many, many leagues deep, probably running for miles underneath them if the map back in the control booth was anything to go by.

The sight of the mangled doors reminded her of the crowbar still clutched tightly in her right hand, grimy and gritty with sweat. If worse came to worse, and the lift proved unserviceable halfway through their ride, at least she still had it. She'd be able to pry her way out if she needed.

Chell hit the big red button on the side of the wall, marked with a single black arrow, pointing downward. A great grinding noise joined the steady vibration of the room as the lift was summoned, a narrow, box-style cart, big enough for holding a total of about three people.

It was small, considering its purpose (which was, according to the note inscribed upon the side of the lift, to bring 'test subjects' down from the surface) but with a jolt Chell remembered that Aperture did not allow clearance to outside visitors, and that it was essentially a one-way trip down to the test shafts. She swallowed hard; inwardly praying that it wouldn't be so for _them. _Did the elevator even _go _the other direction?

She stepped inside, and the elevator ground downwards, muffling the sound of clanking, vibrating machinery. The sight of the reddish, rusty Gel slipped out of her vision, to be replaced with solid black stone. An overhead light fizzled into life, bathing her face in an orange tint, the color of her jumpsuit suddenly vibrant. Dark shadows circled under her eyes, giving her the haggard appearance of one who had not slept in centuries.

Wheatley simulated a sound of sympathy, clicking his vocal processor at her. "Just a little further, now," he reassured her. "We need to get to the main chamber. That'll be where they keep the backup-system, if it's still operational. With luck, we'll be able to find it and, err, plug 'er in. I'll bet there's a way to connect it to the newer facility, too, _her _facility… Have to hack it, probably. Then we can use it to force _her _shutdown, or override, whatever, and then it's a one-way trip to the surface for us!"

Chell stared blankly as she slumped against the lift's wall.

Despite his cheerful, casual tone, he blinked rapidly under her scrutinizing glare. "What?" he asked, his optic glowing a few shades deeper in embarrassment.

She shook her head, and heaved a heavy sigh—personally, she felt that his 'plan' had a whole lot of gaping holes in it, like _how on earth this would be able to take __**her **__offline_—but she had followed his advice thus far, and he had led her faithfully, had he not?

_All right, core, _she thought, frowning harshly at him. _This is the last time, and if you fail me, I will drop-kick you so high into the sky that you'll taste moon dust. You know that poem, the one about the cow jumping over the moon? Yeah, that'll be you._

Wheatley simulated a swallowing sound, and twirled his optic nervously in his shell. "I'm sure it'll be fine. This backup program shouldn't be too difficult to reprogram—easy for _me_, anyways, master hacker and all. Umm, just a word of warning, though—not sure what this thing is capable of, I've heard that, hah, they actually used a bloody dangerous _master turret_ for _its _body. So-so if that's the case, then, we'll just have to switch the system parameters until _she _is the intended target, and it should take _her_ out for us. Mind you don't get shot, though. Haha. Target _proper_acquired," he chuckled, shaking his faceplate in disbelief. "Bloody turrets."

She disregarded this, sighing and shooting him a look that stated quite plainly that she didn't believe a word of it. No matter what he said, it _wasn't _going to be _that _easy—especially not if the-the _backup system _was being run by… _turrets? _

No wonder this place had been 'condemned'. Chell repressed a shiver.

"Well—we'll need to work together, of course," said Wheatley seriously. "But we are excellent teammates, aren't we? Shouldn't be a problem for-for _us._ Not after we've already had practice, taking _her _offline once, haven't we?"

_Like she needed to be reminded of that just now. _

"Umm… Yeah probably not the best time to mention that. Especially not when we're basically going to do the same-same thing and pray that it works. Right—I'll-I'll just shut up, then," he said quietly.

Chell leant her free shoulder against the rumbling wall of the ancient elevator. She raised a soot-blackened hand to wipe a filthy layer of slime from her forehead, a mixture of dirt and sweat, oil and grease. It was a good deal warmer down here than the rest of the Enrichment Center had been, and she was beginning to feel the first pangs of real, true nerves eat away at her stomach. The combination of this and the motion of the lift made her stomach churn; she wished that she had not eaten as many nasty potatoes for breakfast…

Trying to get away from the unpleasantness, she let her mind wander, envisioning what the surface would look like once they got there. There would be grass, yes, plenty of grass, not the weedy, half-dead remains of what she had found in the upper corridors, but real, full, healthy grass. There would be birds (she felt a slight pang for Orion, and sighed a soft, silent prayer that somehow he'd be all right) of every color, and _deer_, whatever those were—she had an idea, but it was a blurry, ill-formed image, maybe only a guess as to what such an interestingly named creature might be.

And—humans. There'd be _people_, like _herself_, persons who were free, happy, and blissfully ignorant to the nightmares that happened down here. When they slept, they'd dream of nice things, like sunshine and real friends, family and delicious food.

They hadn't the bad dreams that Chell experienced during her waking hours. For _them_, they were nightmares of the worst kind—for her, they were _reality._

Suddenly, without any warning, the lift beneath her feet quaked, jarring to a very solid halt. Her body trembled, her wide eyes fearful, and immediately Wheatley's optic flew open to stare at her, a blaze of panic evident from behind the cracked glass.

"_What was —" _He gasped. "Lady, are you _okay_? Oh, _bollocks. _The lift's shut down, hasn't it? What do we do _now_?"

She shrugged, her eyes sweeping the tight, enclosed space, and then settling on what she could see of the room beyond. Unfortunately, the doors on this level happened to be non-functional also—the elevator had not slid far enough down the shaft to trip the unlocking mechanism, and the metal grilles remained firmly shut. It was also boarded with a mix of plywood and sharp-looking nails, pinned together in an obvious effort to keep people out.

A cloud of dust floated into the air from the sudden, jarring motion, and she coughed, inhaling the tiny particles of ground metal and flaked rock. The lift was jammed, but if she could somehow wedge the doors open then they would be able to squeeze through the gap at the bottom!

She thrust Wheatley further over her shoulder mechanically, raising her right hand, which still held the rusted remains of a crowbar. Her eyes drifted over the blackened chunks of peeling metal and sweat that coated her hand, gripping it firmly in her palm. She breathed deeply, her free hand swiping gently over the core's casing, hoping that this would simulate comfort, and that he would forgive her for what she was about to do.

"Lady, what _are _you doing?" Wheatley asked, with his optic still wide with fright. "Have you found a way to get us out? I hope you have, otherwise we're going to suffer a long, drawn-out death of power failure and starvation." He shivered, the circular blue light following her every move with intense curiosity and hope.

She had lodged the forked end of metal into the crease between the elevator doors, letting her shoulders relax momentarily. Then, she wedged her boot up against a far corner for leverage, gripped the bar tightly in both hands, and _pulled_, gritting her teeth with the effort.

The steel buckled, and slowly, the jammed gears above the doors opened with the sound of wrenching metal and seizing joints. Her arms locked up with determination, her jaw set, as inch by inch, they slid further, until the gap was large enough to fit both her and the core.

Wheatley had kept silent, sensing that it was important to do so during the struggle. Chell let the crowbar fall to the floor with a heavy _thump_, and she sunk, panting, down into a corner.

"That was brilliant," he breathed. "You are amazing sometimes, you know that, right? Nothing can take _us _down—not a jammed elevator, no d-death traps, not even _her._ We're-we're unstoppable!"

He looked at her, optic dancing with admiration, his cheerful tone stuttering in excitement. She blushed, giving him a soft _thump _on the top of his casing, but smiling all the same. He really did have a knack for making her feel like she was a hero of some sort, sometimes—which she _wasn't_.

Heroes have names, lives, memories—all _she _had was—a crowbar, about three mushy potatoes, a fire-starter… Oh, and a very silly, sometimes ridiculous core who was beginning to act as though he thought she was the greatest thing that ever walked through these halls…

"Hey," he said, blinking. "Don't look like that, luv. I—that is to say, _we_—could never have gotten this far without you. We'll get out of here, sooner or later, I promise! Even if I die trying—not the best outcome, I'll admit—because I _do _still, umm—feel really terrible, about everything that happened _before_. I don't like this place, it reminds me of—_yeah_. Anyways, I think I still owe you one, wouldn't you say?"

Chell let her head roll softly on her shoulders to look at him, her breath slowly returning to normal.

"Because," he sighed heavily, closing his eye as though he could not bear to look at her, "Even after everything we've been through, everything we're _going _to go through, hopefully _together, _you're still the-the better one. And I _don't _mean a good test subject… You didn't try to kill me, you didn't take o-over the _facility_, you-you d-didn't—_you're not a monster_."

For a moment, Chell was at a loss as to what to do—for he had apologized to her before, sure, but never once had she seen him so sad like this. He sounded on the verge of tears, which she could hardly comprehend, as just a moment ago he had been his usual self: a bumbling, happy-sounding-but-idiotic core. Had he been human, he might have been sobbing, and silently she wondered at the ability of a personality core to mimic human emotion so well.

Damn Aperture.

"I am." He told her. "I'm a _monster_. I don't _feel _like one, not _anymore_, but it's still confusing, and it still _happened_. It's like, I can't imagine that that was _me_, in charge, trying to-to _kill _you, but it was, and I don't know how you can _l-look _at me, sometimes. It's a nightmare, to-to think about it. To think about what it felt like, how much I _wanted_ it… How could I have wanted that? Proper maniac."

Her hand pet the top of his casing, trying to comfort him.

"_N-no_…" he stuttered. "D-don't. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve any of this, we both know it. J-just… do me a favor, when we get to the surface (because, we _are _still going to escape, I owe you that), and chuck me into a ditch, or something, please? B-because I don't know how you can stand me, to be honest, and-and I try not to mention it, for your well-being, but I feel as though it's eating my circuits, sometimes, you know? It's terrible, and I wish I could stop it, but I think the o-only way to make it go away is if I d-do what I said I'd do, all those y-years ago, and _save you_," he blinked, but sensing her gaze he shut his eye again, "And I see it all the _time_, those memories, what I _did_, and at first it made me proper livid, because I didn't understand, b-but I think I'm starting, t-to _see_…"

He faltered, and she stared at him, a slight crease forming between her eyebrows.

"I'll just…" he sighed, shivering a little in his casing as a manifestation of his internal struggle. "S-shut up now. Yes. That sounds good. C-carry on, luv."

And then, without warning, Chell pulled the core up into her arms as best she could, and clung to him, sandwiching him into the curve of her body. For she had no other way to console her one friend, and probably would never have known what to say if she _could _have spoken. So instead, she held him until he became still, the shivers dying away as she reassured him wordlessly. She ran her free hand over the groove that lined the top of his hull, between his casings, resting her chin atop his handle. She rocked him slowly like a mother would rock her child, the rhythm hypnotic, washing away the ugliness of their surroundings, the smell of silicone, and the distant sounds of vibrating machinery. He didn't speak, and she knew that he was cherishing the moment of clarity and contentedness just as much as she was, and she felt as though she was somewhere else, living a part of someone else's life.

"T-thank you," he whispered into her chest. "I just wish that I could take it all back."

She let her eyes close at the sound of his voice, wishing along with him that he could have, wishing that none of it had ever happened. She wanted to be somebody else, a better person, someone who would have had the strength to stop the interlocking sequence of events, the foresight to have understood each link, to have seen the beginnings and ends of the chain.

But she was not a miracle worker, and he was nothing but a broken, damaged core, and their plan was not foolproof. _She _was still out there, and _she _was the one who had caused all of this. If it hadn't been for _her_, they'd never be in this mess in the first place.

And the spell was broken, their shared world of fantasy wiped away like wild blowing away ashes, scattering the remains of an unknowable life across a field of wildflowers. Chell's hand found the rough surface of the crowbar beneath her, and with her other she steadied the core, lifting herself onto her knees.

"Right," he sighed sluggishly, pulling himself back to reality. "Let's get out of here."

She smiled, her strong arm wielding the crowbar like a sword, knocking away the last bits of plywood that had been nailed to the side of the broken elevator's entrance.

Ducking through the hole, she jumped the remaining two feet down from the ledge, with Wheatley still swinging by her side.

Almost immediately, she was blinded by the bright lighting, in contrast with the solitary, dim bulb still swinging from the interior of the elevator cart. In here, row upon row of fluorescent lights hung from cables, stretching over lines of desks and large, bulky computers. Pillars held up a low, cement ceiling, while under her feet, dirty white tiles lined the floor, interspersed with rectangular drains covered with metal grates.

Upon a distant wall, Chell could read the words '_Level Two—Molecular Nanotechnology Laboratory_'.

The room looked almost normal in comparison with the rest of the Shaft thus far: the office space was clean and sterile, with padded chairs that were still crisp and clean besides their age, the Aperture logo painted upon their backs in black lettering. Almost every desk was equipped with at least one computer terminal, much larger than the one she had briefly used to access the vault. Their faces were not the flat-screen displays she was used to, they were old-fashioned, dated models, with convex monitors, blank and dusty with age.

They linked together to form a disjointed, mass of computer mainframe, with a final set of giant tubes protruding from the end of a large machine, extending up through the ceiling.

This was the obvious object of observation, the reason for whatever experiments were being conducted here, within the depths of the Laboratories. It was a massive bulk, filling an entire corner, covered with several cogs and dials, featuring one single, colorless, display screen. Its name was '_Nano and Gel Synthesizer'_ according to the label on its side.

Chell tore her eyes away from it to examine the surrounding walls. They were covered with many posters, displaying absurdly happy people in white lab-coats, carrying briefcases and test-tubes. '_Science isn't about why—it's about why not!_' was written upon the bottom of the closest of these.

"Hey, have you seen this?" Wheatley asked from under her arm, nodding in the direction of an adjacent wall.

She stepped closer, wanting to read the poster that had been pasted upon it. It was the largest, printed upon light orange, laminated paper, positioned in the very middle of the wall:

_**Welcome to the Aperture Science Nanotechnology Laboratory!**_

_The study of Nanotechnology was first implemented in 1953 by CEO Cave Johnson. The objective was to create sentient micro-beings called nanos, capable of radioactive communication through transmission, which could be remotely controlled by Aperture Science personnel. By 1962, Test Shaft Ten was constructed with the sole purpose of conducting further research into Nanotechnology. 'Conduction Gel' was then created using conductive silicone agents as a medium, and the project was so successful that a total of nine Enrichment Spheres were built, dedicated to testing the Gel._

_Conduction Gel testing was then phased out by Conversion Gel as of 1971. However, research began on a new product, nicknamed 'NanoPaste'. The nanos were to be integrated with a magnesium-based toothpaste, which test subjects would use to brush their teeth. The nanos were programmed to consume dental plaque, but side-effects such as loss of tooth enamel and teeth forced the abandonment of such project, and the NanoPaste testing chambers were sealed in 1973. _

_All Conduction Gel Enrichment Spheres are to be vitrified in accordance with federal regulations. Nanotechnology is now being used instead to aid the completion of the Disk Operating System Prototype, as well as the construction of an interactive mainframe network, or SEN (Sentience Enrichment Network)._

_Please note that all subjects within this test shaft are test prototypes only._

_For your security, please follow the directions outlined in the training and safety manual._

_Do not engage with any functional machinery beyond this point._

"'_Do not engage with any functional machinery beyond this point'_," Wheatley read. "Well then—at least what we're about to do hardly counts as _engaging_. More like _modifying_, really. Just ignore what that says, then, I'm sure it's not important, and, uhh—can you see another exit? It's not like we can ride the lift back out of the vault. Clearly broken, yeah. We'll be needing another way down."

With a silent scoff, Chell turned away from the notice. Wheatley was right, there _had _to be another way, and the lift was no longer functional. The ugly black snarl of machinery covered an entire wall from view, but just behind it, she could see a small door.

She crossed over to it, careful not to touch any of the surrounding equipment. It didn't feel like the sort of place she'd benefit from poking around in, not with the many leering computer screens, and shadowy, mysterious mess of wires, pipes, and machinery. The notice she had previously read left her with a feeling of intense foreboding, not to mention worry that throwing the switch back in the control room had been the completely wrong thing to do. What _was _Nanotechnology supposed to mean, even? None of it made any sense to her.

The door was unlocked, which she privately felt grateful for. It swung open as she hit the push-bar, its hinges turning silently. Beside her, Wheatley trembled a little in anticipation, trying to peer out of the folds of the jumpsuit to see what lay in the room beyond.

It was a stairwell.

The cream-colored cement walls were splashed with a yellowish hue by the surrounding lights. Chell craned her neck upwards, but the higher reaches of the hall were concealed behind the mass of steps. She let the door fall closed heavily behind her, producing a great, echoing _bang_, reverberating around the cramped space until her ears rang with the sound of it.

Both she and Wheatley cringed. Chell spun around to glare at the back of the now-closed door.

"Well this'd count as a way down, I guess," he was saying, taking in the sight of the stairway suspiciously. He was learning quickly, becoming more cautious with each new mission, his usual, blundering manner hidden behind a new sense of vigilance. "Lucky for us this stair is here."

She wasn't listening, though—she had just seen, inscribed onto the back of the door, was a floor-by-floor directory:

_**Welcome To Enrichment Shaft Ten—The Aperture Science Artificial Intelligence Testing Center!**_

_**Directory:**_

_**Level One**__—Gel Pump Station Delta_

_**Level Two**__—Molecular Nanotechnology Laboratory [You Are Here]_

_**Levels Three to Eleven**__—Enrichment Spheres #1-9_

_**Level Twelve**__—Disk Operating System Testing Center (Version 1.07a Prototype—Artificial Nano-compilation Intelligence Mechanism and Lifeform OS)_

Chell frowned as she read it, clueless as to what most of it referred to. In all honesty, she did not really _want _to know, and the idea of nine _more _Enrichment Spheres to journey through was enough to make her feel sick. Her trip into Test Shaft Nine had been horrific enough in itself. There had been nearly hundreds of vitrified chambers there, all locked away, holding the remnants of dangerous experiments, and she could hardly bear to imagine what sort of things they contained—glorified mantis men, probably, at the very least. She supressed a shiver at just the thought. Hopefully _this _Test Shaft would be a little less _dangerous_.

"You all right, luv?" Wheatley asked, feeling her shivers. "It's not _that _cold down here, is it?"

She shook her head. No, it was the opposite of cold in this stairwell, almost unbearably stuffy, filled with the nasty concoction of ancient, stale air, nameless chemicals, and still, the lingering scent of silicone, perhaps wafting the from the chamber above. She breathed in the fumes, preparing to begin her descent when she saw it—a black, thin rail, attached to the bottoms of the stairs above.

It was reminiscent of the old management rails used for guiding personality constructs throughout the labyrinth of the Enrichment Center above, though she could not think of what one might be doing all the way down _here._

"Hey," Wheatley called, sensing her pause. "What're you looking at, lady?"

She jabbed her thumb towards the ceiling, and watched him as his optic travelled upwards, finally resting on the black line of rail above them.

"_Oh!_" he exclaimed, surprised. "There are _rails _down here! Not sure if they're compatible, but we could give it a try, wouldn't hurt!"

Fumbling with the jumpsuit-knot, Chell began to peel him out of the harness. She scanned the dark rail for any sign of a hook or plug that she could attach him to, allowing him to make the connection, but there wasn't one.

"Um… yeah, behind you, there," he pointed out. "You know that button-thing, says 'Call Rail Guide'? Give that a little _push_."

She pressed the small, silver button set into the wall. Immediately, an apparatus sped rattling along the rail from the depths of the stairwell—suspended from the forerunner of 'the management rail' by a series of wheels, complete with a solitary plug.

"Great—plug me in, then!" he instructed, cheerful at the prospect.

It was difficult to lift him, as the rail was quite high over her head, but she made the connection with a _click_, and let go. He hung there, low over her head, and his optic automatically burned a brighter blue, as though an electrical charge surging through the rail was illuminating his eye itself.

"Oh, _that's _better," he laughed, spinning himself energetically on the rail. "Much better. Core battery life is good for bloody _ages_, but it is a bit wearing sometimes, travelling without the use of a management rail, if I could be honest. A bit of a refreshment, this is."

Chell nodded in agreement, stretching out her back, relishing the freedom to move. She started slowly down the steps, and Wheatley followed from above, the rail guide's wheels rotating soundlessly. The side walls were emblazoned with yet more warning and informational posters, many similar to those that she had seen before (what to do in case of a rogue AI—shout paradoxes at it, and if that doesn't work, then run like hell and hit 'the big red button').

"Judging by that sign back there, I'm pretty sure we'll want the twelfth floor," Wheatley informed her as she walked. "Though, I think it may be a good idea for us to take a look at what's inside _every_ floor. Couldn't hurt, and we might find something useful, you never know. What do you think, mate?"

Chell shrugged, but agreed. Since she didn't have much to go on as to _what _they were supposed to accomplish down here, the idea of exploring each room of this secret Test Shaft sounded like a better plan than anything else had so far. Just—she'd have to be careful not to touch anything else, is all.

There was also the problem that the management rail above had many smaller tracks leading off of the main one. All of these led straight into two-foot-wide holes in what was a very solid cement wall. She eyed the level-three door which had just come into view, much as plain-looking and unimpressive as the one above had been.

Either he was going to have to disengage, or she was going to have to venture onwards alone.

"Errmm," Wheatley huffed, spotting the problem. "Hmph. _This_ might pose an issue."

_No, really?_

"How about if I meet you up ahead?" he asked confidently, feeling a lot braver since the discovery of the rail.

Any other time the suggestion would have ended with her giving him the equivalent to a kick in the head, but this time, incidentally, she had been thinking along the same lines. She gathered all reservation and heaved one long, low sigh. She wasn't particularly fond of the idea, but if they _both _chose the same route, one of the other ways would be left unexplored.

It was time for them to each take a different path.

Nodding heavily to the core, she first pointed at herself, and then to the steel door.

"I—well, okay, then," he began. "I don't feel particularly… Err, what I mean to say is, it's been what feels like a very long time since we've split up, even for a moment. It's not a good omen, is it? Perhaps we'd better stick together down here. After all, we _have _been together for the better part of the past _three years, _including the time spent inside of that blasted relaxation vault."

Chell shook her head, pointing even more persistently. It _was _a pretty good idea, despite whatever _she _had told her about his programming._ Go find whatever it is we're looking for, _she tried to tell him._ I'll meet you up ahead—I want to make sure that there isn't anything important in here. We don't want to miss anything and have to double back, do we?_

"All right, all right, fine," he huffed, spinning a little on the rail. "Fine. I'll follow the rail down, to wherever that goes, and you go see what's beyond that door, there. Just—I'd feel a little better if we came up with a signal of sorts, to communicate with each other—I _know _you haven't a wireless system, but… Don't you think it would be safer, if we had a rendezvous point? A set of coordinates to meet at? Well maybe not that, actually, since we've no idea where we're _going_ , even my map isn't functional down here."

She cocked her eyebrow at him, intrigued. She liked the idea (Wheatley with _two _good ideas in a space of five minutes? It was like a bloody miracle), but she was going to add her own twist onto it.

Chell switched her handy crowbar from her right hand to her left, and dug the blackened fist deep into her pocket. She felt around, sensing a squishy, wet mush of what must be the remnants of her potatoes (_mashed _potatoes, apparently) and shoved them aside, her fingers closing on a smooth, cold surface.

She pulled out the two-inch long piece of stainless steel, the fire-starting mechanism which she had carried faithfully with her ever since the science-fair-hallway. It really did feel like ages ago.

It was this she held up to Wheatley, holding it out in front of his optic. He narrowed his eye shutters in concentration, and the refraction of blue specs that had danced around the hall in reflection shimmered.

"What am I supposed to do with _that_?" he wondered, completely confused. "I haven't got any hands—I thought we were over the whole let's-make-fun of-the-poor-innocent-core for-having-no-arms stage."

As quick as a fox, Chell reached up and smacked him softly on the side of the hull, eyes shooting daggers at the suggestion. She _was trying to be serious. _He then watched her curiously, optic never shifting from her hands as she flicked the latch open, running her thumb over the rough gear. A bright orange flame materialized.

"Oh. _Fire_," he said, finally understanding. "Fire! The signal, of course! If anything dangerous should occur—trip the fire alarm! Why didn't I think of that?"

Chell grinned at him.

"Perfect. We're all set!"

She nodded, still beaming. He mirrored the expression back at her cheekily, his optic shining brightly. She took a deep breath, trying to engrave the happy expression in her memories if anything should go wrong—she wanted to remember _this _Wheatley, her friend, the _new _one in death, not the monster who had once made her life hell.

But she could see his own misgivings reflecting in the light of his optic.

Stepping backwards, she turned around before she could change her mind.

She was still full of unease as she pressed the door open, ears pricked for the sound of him gliding along his rail into the depths of the facility. The hum of the motor faded, but she could have sworn that before it did, she heard an echo of a cheerful, British voice call out 'Good luck, luv!'

Then she turned back to the task at hand. She had to be _mental _to make the decision that she had just made, to separate herself from her _guide_ in this forsaken place. What was even _worse _was that she was now somehow _willingly _entering a chamber marked 'Test Subject Waiting Room and Equipment Recovery Annex'.

Surely nothing was _wrong_ about that. Nothing was amiss and no hint of deep-seated foreboding was coursing through her veins in a wave of poisonous panic and adrenaline, not at all. She was not worried that she had already ruined everything by hitting that switch in the chamber above, reinstating a blood-like flow of Gel to this condemned part of the facility—and there was definitely no resounding whirr, audible even _here_, a base thrum echoing from some unseen, enormous machine.

No.

That was _not _happening.

It was all a lie.

Or, that's what she would have _liked _to believe, but there was no mistaking that this black-and-yellow tiled hallway she was entering was real, and she really had just been _stupid _enough to let the door close behind her with a very solid and believable _bang_…

She turned around immediately, with the full intention of tearing after Wheatley down the staircase. She threw her weight against the steel door—_but it did not budge._

_Greeeeat._

The hallway was quiet, so quiet that even the noise of her boots made her breath catch in her throat. She was so sure, that at any moment a trap was about to spring to life, that the solitary, closed door at the direct end of the hall was about to blast open and unleash an unseen horror.

It didn't, though. Chell tip-toed down the tiled floor, one hand lining a brown, stained wall, smeared with fingerprints accumulated over centuries. How many other unfortunate souls had marched the same black-and-yellow mile that she had?

There were more doors, here, along the sides—all thrown wide open, their empty doorframes gaping like wide, hungry mouths. A quick glance showed her that they contained offices with filing cabinet contents scattered askew, desks still full of test subject application sheets, interview questions and other forms.

One of the larger rooms was filled with rows and rows of padded chairs, opposed to the usual hunk of office materials and junk. Even with the dim lighting, Chell could make out a pattern of puke-orange and brown, bland yellows mingled with grey. A large portrait was placed at the very front of this room, an artistic centerpiece; it depicted a familiar man in grey, handsome yet aging, his strong, thick hands folded elegantly in front of him.

A shiny, bronze plaque beneath the handsome face read 'Aperture Science CEO Cave Johnson'.

She wanted that door at the end, though. The one at the very end of the hall shut tightly, that everything inside of her brain told her not to open, the one that was surely the only way out of this corridor. The other rooms were all dead ends, but this had to be it. Her jaw set, she swallowed hard, feeling her trembling fist close firmly around the tarnished brass handle.

It turned, squeaking like a dying mouse, and immediately a whiff of excessively stale air filled her nostrils. She inhaled it, coughing and sputtering, momentarily blinded by a cloud of disturbed dust as the door shut. It cleared, and she blinked, her eyes adjusting to the gloom beyond.

It was a semi-large chamber with circular walls lined with a low, round railing. It was sort of like a gigantic clothing rack, hidden away in this odd, chaotic closet. Hundreds of clips supporting a mass of white-and-orange clothing, protective gear, and similar devices were grouped along the walls. There were jumpsuits of every size, an assortment of hair ties, tank tops ranging from pale blue-and-grey to her own blazing once-white, body under-armour, sports bras, and even tinted safety goggles.

Her eyes grew wide as she looked. Something deep, a primal need, coursed through her unexpectedly, and Chell found herself examining the closest clothing rack. Could it hurt—it wouldn't, would it?—to try a few of these on, just out of curiosity only, of course?

She was very dirty by now, not that she could help it, having never been presented with a true chance to clean herself up. However, now that she was here, in the (what was this place called? Her eyes found the title scrawled across the very top of the room) 'Equipment Recovery Annex'. She hesitated, then crossed to the tank top section, and ran a bit of clean fabric between her index and middle fingers.

It would be so nice—just for _once_—to have something else to wear. She did not care for different colors and styles (there were a few to choose from), she sought only the relief of wearing fresh, _clean _clothes…

There was a smell wafting from the cloth between her fingers, detectable even under the stale musk of centuries. It was the smell of lilacs.

Chell chose a white tee, nearly identical to the one she currently had on, except this one featured a rather old-style of Aperture logo, opposed to the 'new age' design she was sporting. With a self-conscious glance around her, she hovered for a moment on the edge of reason. She knew that it was a human thing, to feel this way about exposing herself in front of other _humans_—she was _sure _that _she _had mentioned it, once upon a time, along with a ton of other reasons of why her 'generousness' was unattractive—but Chell had a definite cause to feel self-conscious about undressing in front of blank walls.

Who was to say that _these _walls didn't have eyes? She scanned every corner for a security camera, but could not find one.

It wasn't that she felt ugly or unappealing, and thankfully, Wheatley wasn't here to make the situation more awkward than it had to be. She was just extremely uncomfortable with the idea of _her_ seeing her completely exposed, when she herself hadn't ever seen parts of her own body in living memory.

There were scars, and so much hurt concealed beneath the thin layers of fabric. Showing them to anyone, alive, dead, or sentient machine, was an unbearable thought, now that she had already suffered through revealing them once.

And down here, the prospect of surviving humans somehow felt much more _real. _Perhaps it was the giant portraits of the aging Cave Johnson, or maybe it was something else entirely.

She hadn't seen another human, alive, in living memory, and the concepts of attraction and privacy were foreign notions, imprinted upon her mind through the vague, technophillic conversation sometimes held by one of the two AI constructs. Scars were ugly and frightening to Wheatley, and _she _had lost no time in informing her that she found her form exceedingly fat and flabby. Chell did not feel the need to impress the two, though; no, she couldn't care _less_. _Really_.

_To hell with it, _she decided, and stripped off her tank without further thought, leaving the sweat-stained under-armour in place. She pulled a fresh top back on, breathing in the light scent of lilacs.

She was glad there were no mirrors here for her to see her reflection in. The notion that she was wearing a top inscribed with the hated company logo, be it 'Aperture Science Innovators' or another revision, was enough to make her want to throw up. She _didn't _belong to this place, as _he _did, and _her_; she was her own person, own construct, human down to every last living, breathing cell.

_They weren't._

Chell sighed, wanting to sit down and rub her aching feet. It was not an option, though, because there were no chairs, and beyond that, she had no idea how to take the long-fall-boots off. For a minute, she was confused as to why she could not find any spare boots along the walls of this-this _Equipment Recovery Annex, _but then she remembered—Aperture used to surgically implant fall-protecting mechanisms onto their test subjects' knees.

At the far end of the room, there was an exit doorway. She made for it, finding no more objects of interest, and slid through the narrow gap of a door, still feeling a little nervous.

That was, until she saw what the next chamber held.

With a sharp intake of breath, her eyes adjusted to the darkness—the room was blank, except for one single column of light shining from its center, onto—

Her hand gripped the crowbar with excessive tightness.

A short, elaborate pedestal had been erected here, and upon it sat a bulk of deactivated machinery. A single tube extended from a seal upon its back, ending in a curiously shaped apparatus.

Could it be—?

She edged closer cautiously, eyes reading a small inscription on the side of the machine's stand. _Quantum Tunneling Device #492_, it read.

_Then this was —_

Her hand hovered over the end, which she now knew to be the operational end of the device. Her eyes narrowed, and she made a split-second decision to throw all of her own previous warnings out the window—she was not only going to touch this _thing_, against her own mental reservations, but she was going to _use _it.

After all, navigating the depths of the Enrichment Center without a portal device had to be the closest thing to a suicide mission, and here was a portal-creating gun lying innocently in front of her, as if begging to be used.

Her fingers closed around the clean, white grip, and immediately, as though her contact with the machine itself had tripped a switch somewhere, a very familiar male voice rang out. She started, removing her hand as though she'd been burned.

"_Welcome, test subject, to Aperture Science!_"

An ancient announcement system had cackled to life, broadcasted from a dusty speaker near the ceiling. It released a few sparks in time with the harsh tone, a deep, gruff voice, hinted with an edge of hoarseness.

"_Greetings, I'm Cave Johnson. Now, you've been selected to participate in a rather special round of tests today. Our first batch of Conduction Gel has just been ground up, and yes, it glows, though the warning sticker on the barrel does advise you to wear tinted safety goggles if you're going to be testing with it. Hope you picked up a pair of shades back in the Equipment Recovery Annex, because its unstable luminosity isn't something to mess around with! Not when the side-effects range from temporary blindness to vaporizing your vitreous humor! And despite how humorous that sounds, you won't be laughing. Here at Aperture Science, we're about twenty-million nanometers away from inventing what'll probably be the biggest discovery in this entire millennia, so count yourself lucky that you've been chosen to forward science with your, err—Caroline, what did the file say again?_"

"Tenacity," a female voice supplied. "The test subject has acquired unusual amounts of tenacity, not normally recommended for Mobility Gel testing."

"_Right. Well this isn't the boring stuff we're throwing at you, so you put that 'tenacity' to good use and follow the red line on the floor! Oh, and in an effort to boost morale in the face of abnormally lethal testing, we have generously lent you the use of—_ahem—_one Quantum Tunneling Device, model number four-hundred-ninety-two. We'll need that back when you're done with it, so take good care not to get any of that Conduction Gel on it—otherwise we'll be feeding you to the nanos. They don't have mouths, but that doesn't mean that they can't devour a man faster than the naked eye, with or without vitreous humor!_"

Chell swung the machine's straps over her shoulder with difficulty. It took her around ten minutes to locate the power switch and adjust the restraints (it was bloody _heavy_, in comparison to the light-weight, compact edition that she was so used to), but she depressed a small button in its side and felt a sudden mechanical vibration near her central back.

It was kind of nice. Like a massage. Very comforting.

A good sign.

She shot an experimental portal at a wall (the handheld portion of the device had a very similar design to what she was used to, she realized happily), but nothing materialized here; instead, a grey-white shower of sparks rained down like a firework display.

_There must not be any portable surfaces in here_, she presumed, and head straight for the chamber's exit, her feet following a narrow, faded red line still etched in peeling paint along the floor.

"_So you may have noticed the complete lack of employees in this area of the Enrichment Shaft,_" the pre-recorded messages continued._ "Well, test subject, you'll be happy to hear that testing is now mandatory for employees, and as a result, staff count is down about 75%. Now, you're probably thinking to yourself, 'Cave, 75% is a big number! Am I really in danger?' the answer is no, just as long as you keep those greedy little fingers to yourself and don't touch the Conduction Gel. Last poor sucker who did… unfortunate, but we warned 'em!_"

With her crowbar still hanging limply in her left hand, Chell found herself facing yet another grated steel doorway. The grilles slid open as she approached with a loud _clang, _exposing the dank interior of another lift.

Getting inside was a bit of an operation. She had to account for the bulk of machinery resting heavily on her back. She ducked down, scraping the top of it accidentally on the doorframe, wincing a little as the grilles clattered closed noisily behind her.

A swinging bulb hung from the ceiling, lighting the lift as she descended into the depths of the Enrichment Shaft. An ancient speaker crackled into life overhead, spewing a few more sparks as Cave Johnson's gruff voice blared loudly inside the tiny lift.

_Couldn't they have turned the volume down inside of the elevator? _She wondered, trying to lift her elbows to shield her ears from the searing pitch.

"_So for these next tests, we've put nanoparticles in the gel. That's the composition of Conduction Gel—three fourths nanos, one fourth a conductive, silicone-based Gel. It's where we got its name from. Yep, this stuff's choked full of real, live little machines, too small to even see. If you're able to see them, they aren't nanoparticles. That's not Conduction Gel, and you're probably part of the control group. You get the gel, though, so don't touch it—those little gizmos are coated in a protective serum for a reason! Hahah. Probably pure poison, but with Science, we have created a formula that won't dry up for another_ (there was a sound of papers shuffling) _fifty years, give or take. Plenty of time, long enough for us to figure out what these little critters are actually capable of doing._"

The lift trembled, descending further. Chell slumped against its side, and started to examine the operational end of her newly-acquired device. It was similar to the new-age product in some ways, but vastly different in others: instead of her hand fitting snugly inside, her fist gripped a series of three small triggers, connected to the head of the apparatus via a metal rod. It was a lot like holding an extremely bizarre type of old-fashioned camera or hair dryer.

Her thoughts drifted reluctantly back to Wheatley, wondering where he was now. It had been at least a half hour since they had split up, and she knew from experience that he could travel very fast by rail if need be.

She had dawdled enough up in the room with the clothes, not to mention it had taken time to strap this giant prototype machine onto herself. If her internal clock was indeed accurate, then she had wasted precious time, and even now Wheatley could have already found the chamber which they both hunted for.

If she didn't hurry up, he'd assume that she was in trouble. The _last _thing she needed was for him to begin a search-and-rescue mission on his own, without any real knowledge of where she would even be. It was a recipe for disaster, that was for sure. Suddenly the idea to leave the _Intelligence Dampening Sphere _alone, in what was left of a condemned test shaft, home to experiments possibly more dangerous than anything they had yet met sounded like a very terrible idea indeed.

Chell fingered the lighter in her pocket nervously, just as the lift stopped. Even the fact that she had at least thought to create some sort of a backup plan before setting off did not lighten the dread pooling in her heart. It burned like acid through a wisp of hair, and she heaved a deep sigh of resignation before stepping out of the lift.

_Sssssswwwwwwwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaa aaaaccccccccckkkkkkkk._

All at once, Chell felt several items located deep in her jumpsuit pockets disintegrate. The crowbar, her remaining _food_, her fire-starter, her _means of communication to Wheatley—_all had been vaporized into a pile of ashes on the floor. No—not _even _a pile of ashes. They had been vaporized into _oblivion._

So strong was her refusal to believe what had just happened, that she had just been _so _stupid as to _forget_, that she walked back through the emancipation grill, as if re-crossing the barrier would magically make the items reappear.

_It didn't._

Chell aimed a kick at the side of the lift. The boot absorbed much of the impact, but she still felt the ghost of a pain connect with her right toe. She hobbled for a moment, a little more dramatically than she would have normally done, glaring at the lift as though it had personally insulted her.

But _that voice _interrupted her silent stand-off with the surrounding equipment.

"_All right. So the lab boys have just informed me of what will happen if you touch the Conduction Gel. It's nothing good, unless it's been your lifelong dream to have yourself disassembled by microscopic machines and then rebuilt from the bottom up. Can't guarantee they'll put all the pieces back in the right spots, so, if I were you, I'd wait a while until we figure out how to control the actual procedure."_

Chell swallowed hard, making a mental note that whatever she did, she'd try her best not to come in contact with _that Gel. _Apparently she'd been right, and it _would _be able to kill her upon contact. Who'd have thought?

"_They would also like me to tell you that," _Cave shuffled his papers again, clearing his throat, "'_Under absolutely no circumstances are test subjects to ingest the Conduction Gel. Doing so could result in…' …Really? Who in the name of blazin' Science wrote this garbage? We should be _testing_this! Yeah, that's it. Grind 'em back up, mix 'em in with a few taste-enhancing products, and there you go! Aperture brand toothpaste. Caroline, are you writing this down?_"

"Yes Sir, Mr. Johnson!"

"_Good. I want two photocopies, one for my personal record, and another to shove in that sorry excuse for a bank collection agency's spokesman's face. That'll tell 'em, next time they think of giving Cave Johnson a notice of repossession. I'll fire 'em. I don't care who they work for, they are _fired!_ What do you have to say about that, Caroline! Can we do that?_"

"We can try, Sir!"

"_My assistant Caroline, everyone. Wonderful woman. Oh, and, test subject, don't consume the Gel. We're currently working on that as a side experiment. You won't be doing that today. Maybe next test. Good luck on this one, though. Say 'goodbye', Caroline._"

"Goodbye, Caroline."

Chell walked forwards with a slightly-open mouth, eyes scanning her new environment with an air of disbelief. She was standing on a narrow catwalk, hanging low over a pit of deep acid. The walls were high and concave, made of many, many triangular joints, all the color of red-and-greenish-grey rust.

A map at the end of the catwalk showed her that she was in _'Test Shaft Ten—Enrichment Sphere 001/009'._

Chell was back in testing.

And what was worse, was that she could feel an all-too-familiar prickling sensation, spreading slowly through her, making the hairs on the back of her neck and arms stand on end at the sight of the familiar, dome-shaped atrium. Contrary to what _Cave Johnson _might have said long ago, she seriously doubted that this reaction was the result of asbestos exposure.

Whatever lay ahead in this next test chamber, whether it was Conduction Gel or some sort of omniscient, bionic monster, she privately felt that she'd rather face it with the three-portal-device instead of this _thing_—Quantum Tunneling Device, or whatever it was.

_Screw it_, she decided, stepping defiantly down the catwalk. _A little testing fun isn't going to stop me now. I've made it this far…_


	13. Transmission Recieved

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Thirteen - Transmission Received  
**

* * *

"All fine. Everything's fine. Yeah, it's amazing, absolutely tremendous. Nothing to worry about, peachy, really. Just fine. Fine."

Wheatley was zooming along his management rail, trying valiantly to ignore the mind-boggling height from which he was suspended. He kept his optic propped open, alert, staring straight ahead, reluctant to glance into the deep, dark pit below, but every so often he just couldn't _help _himself, and he _looked down._

A half-strangled gasping sound oozed out of his speakers, a noise that may have rendered him quite embarrassed if the lady had heard him. However, she was not present, and judging by the fact that he was _literally hanging from a rusted metal railing in the middle of absolute thin air, _there was no plausible way that _anyone _could be listening.

It was a steady process of inch forward, accidentally look down, pause in fright, and try with all his might to convince himself that he _needed _to continue, for the sake of the team. Enough was enough—he _had _to put his own well-being out of mind if he wanted to pay _her _back. He _owed _her an escape route that would work.

A plan that would work was a necessity for that, though, and as much as he did not want to admit it, Wheatley had long since lost any inkling of what he needed to do to achieve the elusive escape-from-the-facility-for-real.

Not that he would ever admit it.

"Not a problem," he groaned, after another unwelcome bout of looking-down-ness. "Nooope. _No, _there is a very high probability that this management rail is fairly rusted and about ready to give way at any moment, but no matter. My d-death will be completely voluntary and very much deserved, c-considering—considering everything. And if, by chance, I _don't _die before I can reunite with the lady, s-she'll probably do me in herself once she realizes _I haven't really got a plan._"

And right after he'd finally said it aloud like that, he understood _just _how terrible it was. He had led her here, on what was basically a suicide mission, just so that he could get a little peace of mind. To make himself feel better about what he had done.

It wasn't _that_ bad, though, was it? He certainly cared for the lady's well-being! He _wanted _her to succeed! It wasn't _all _because-because he had punched her into that pit in the first place, was it? No, definitely not because _none of this would have happened if it hadn't been for him, and it really was entirely his own fault._

"B-but I…" he spoke to the empty cavern, his optic darting down into the depths to rest atop a gigantic, rusted metal sphere, as wide as the Shaft itself. He simulated a harsh gulp, compacting his casing as if trying to pull himself together. He was _not _about to let this entire thing fall apart at the seams. _No_.

This was how the journey thus far had gone for Wheatley. Travelling alone was a lot more nerve-wracking than he had anticipated, especially considering his actual lack-of-nerves. Wire-wracking, more like, but same thing, really, he decided with a curt nod.

Yeah, _she'd _be fine, he had deduced, with her copious amount of tenacity and all that—but _he _didn't have a _clue _where he was supposed to be going.

"J-just follow the rail," he mumbled to himself, gyros a little scrambled from the sheer _height _he was zooming along at. "Follow the rail, thank you very much, and nothing bad should happen."

After she'd wordlessly said goodbye to him in the stairwell, he continued as he had been directed down the rail. He'd rounded the corner, cheerfully calling out one last goodbye before the sound of a heavy metal door slamming shut had echoed abruptly through the now-empty staircase.

It had sent a sudden shock careening through his shell, a blunt realization that he was _alone_, for the first time in longer than he'd cared to admit. He sat implausibly still for a moment or two, feeling as though an invisible barrier was keeping him from descending further down the rail.

"Well," he'd gasped finally, hoping that hearing his own voice aloud would calm him (it had always been so, during those countless years he'd spent manning the relaxation chambers). "Off we go, then. T-team 'test-subject-escape' is-is down to one, for now. Not really a team, then, I suppose. More like—a lone wanderer."

_Off we go._ Yeah, easier said than done. He had sat there for a good ten long, lonely minutes, half of him hoping that the lady would come back for him, unable to stand the thought of him journeying through this blasted Shaft alone.

She didn't come back.

"V-very well," he'd chattered aloud. "S-she's not coming back. Can't blame her, though. Wouldn't do either of us much good to turn back now."

Not when what she wanted, above his company, his companionship, was _escape_. And he could not blame her for that. Not after how many times she'd held freedom so _close, _literally at the tips of her fingers, only to have it ripped away.

He shuddered involuntarily. _He'd _done that to her.

It was worse than the sensation he'd got from looking down into that _pit_ below—it was like knives, razors, sawing unpleasantly through that which made him the personality construct he was. That was the problem, the _guilt_, and he fought to keep it hidden from the lady, braving a weak smile, cheering her on. It was what kept him sane, but deep within, he'd never felt more corrupt in his entire, rather pathetic excuse for a life.

Seeking a distraction, he focused on observing the cavernous Shaft in better detail, trying to figure out where to go. His rail, the largest and most solid-looking of the lot, was descending at a steady downward angle, following alongside the ancient stone which made up the inside of the Shaft. Deep cracks ran over the surfaces like frayed threads, so deep they dislodged many of the steel grates and catwalks crossing the emptiness. They would have connected with an assortment of pump stations and observation lounges, but instead hung limp and useless in mid-air.

At one time, many of these catwalks connected with the Enrichment Spheres themselves, acting as high bridges for test subjects to use at the conclusion of the tests. But after many years of loose bolts and oxidizing metal, great portions had fallen away into the pit.

He could only hope that the same fate had not met the end of his _own _management rail.

Speeding along as if trying to escape from the thought itself, he lamented momentarily on how great it would be to be back in the lady's arms—covered with that disgusting rag, sure, but comfortable all the same. She had been kind, really, to carry him so, and he did appreciate it, deep down. With yet another pang, he realized that he had never once thanked her. He made a mental note to do so when they were reunited.

Whenever _that _would be. Because right now, Wheatley was not exactly sure of where heeven _was_.

"Okay, umm," he said aloud, pausing on the rail. "Let's step back for a moment. Re-re-evaluate what exactly it is that needs to be done. And where I am. That would be proper helpful, it would."

As he said it, he dug within his internal software, trying to find the mapping-system-program that had been transferred to him from the turret in the hall. "Where did I put it?" he wondered for a moment, shifting files messily, peeling apart megabytes of data which had not been examined in longer than he'd cared to admit.

Most of these were leftover segments of code and unreadable data from the DOS. He'd fully meant to delete them, of course, but he just couldn't figure out _how _to delete them. Who would even _want _to know about human attachment towards other humans and how the lady's pain receptors worked? Certainly not _him. _Probably _her_. They _were _her files, after all.

"Aaaah, here it is," he said smartly, pulling up the file. "Oh, whaat?" he gasped as the program promptly informed him that he was currently _out of range._ "Bollocks. That's just lovely. Exactly what I needed, really, couldn't have gotten any luckier than this. Separated from the lady, _lost_, don't know where to go or what to do in the basement of all bloody basements. The bottom of the bloody _world._"

_And that's exactly how she wants you_, said a terrible voice inside of his head. _It's why she wanted to go along with your stupid plan. Split up? Convenient way to ditch the loser core!_

"No," he said firmly, but ducked his optic fearfully into this shell. "N-no, she wouldn't. Not-not after everything… I mean, I have the directions! I have the map! I…"

_You don't have the map_, the voice said. _You don't have a plan. You don't have anything, you're going to get her killed because you brought her down here!_

"I'm not listening, not listening!"

_It was your idea,_ he knew it was true. _Stupid idea. Moron idea. See, _she_was right!_

"SHUT UP!"

He said it so loud, with so much force that his voice echoed all the way across the wide Shaft. It rebounded against the ominous, hanging spheres, shooting his own command back at himself. It sounded like twenty of him laughing, the words reverberating inside of his own mind, his own hull.

He cringed and whined as best a personality sphere could. "I need…" he gasped. "I need someone…"

It didn't matter anymore that he could move. It didn't matter that he had a fully accessible management rail, which was conveniently dropping level-by-level right in the direction he wanted to go. What he wanted, what he _needed _was help, someone to bounce ideas off of, no matter whether they'd respond or not. Companionship, a friend.

The lady had been a source of comfort and courage for him, and she was not here anymore.

"What I need," he said finally, trying to keep his vocal processor steady, "Is a guide. Some-some sense of direction, maybe a bit of help. Yeah. _I need a guide._"

_Beep! _

At the end of his last sentence, something behind him let out a mechanical pulse. He yelled in fright, trying to turn around to see what it was that had crept up behind without him knowing, but there was _nothing there_.

"Hello, _Aperture Science construct name here. _How may I be of assistance?"

"Wh —?" he gasped in surprise, spinning around even more viciously, struggling to understand where this new voice was coming from. Had somebody been _following _him? Had they heard him _talking _to himself, like that? An impulse shiver ran down his frame at the thought.

"Hello!" the voice repeated, high and definitely feminine, though of obvious synthetic quality.

"_Who are you?_" he demanded. "How did y—ahh, _what do you want with me?_"

At his last words, the shock proved too much for him, and his entire frame convulsed in fear. Overcome, his optical plate glitched violently, scraping along the inside of his hull. A shower of sparks shot from the point of contact and he cried out in pain.

"_Aaaaarrghhh!_" he grunted, clearly frustrated. "Now look, mate! Look what you've made me do! Bloody won't be able to see straight for a _week_, I don't doubt. Nicely done. _Last _thing I needed, when I'm lost and about to bloody _die—_haha. Shouldn't laugh, really, it's _not _funny. I'm half-blinded. Blind personality construct. _Brilliant._"

"Blind? You require optical assistance? I can fix that."

Without warning, a tingly, numb rush of pure data was forced upon him—all visual information, all of which he did not need—fed directly from his back port. "_Aaaaaaaaghh, noooo!_" he called out, unprepared and positively wriggling to break free, but still lodged firmly onto the rail. Never mind the fact that if he _had _managed to disengage himself, he would have probably fallen to his _death_. "Stop! Stop, stop, _stop, _STOP!"

The connection closed automatically.

"What in the blazes d'you think you're _doing?_" he gasped over the sound of his wildly cycling drive and the persistent squeak of his handles and face plate, squirming as if trying to push away a physical force. "What're you trying to _do _to me? Kill me?"

"Of course not," the voice said, sounding a bit upset. "You said you required optical assistance. I was providing just that."

Wheatley let his handles go limp, and ceased struggling. Yeah, he had said that he was momentarily blinded, but it had been a _joke! _"I wasn't _serious_, mate," he told whoever-it-was, still sounding out of breath.

"I apologize." The voice had become meek, as though she were afraid that she had offended him. "Does—do you require any other form of assistance? I would be happy to help."

He was silent, darting his optic around the cavernous room, still trying to find the source of the voice. "Sure," he replied, uninterested. "But first, would you mind telling me, _who _you are and exactly _where _you are? I can't see you. That'd be the first thing you could help me with, then."

"I am the Aperture Science Multi-Purpose Management Rail Guide, but you can call me Carrie."

Wheatley choked back a laugh, wondering at the sheer _length _of the name. "Who, in the name of Science, would give you that sort of a name? Hah. Carrie it is, then. _Proper _long name, that other one is. But you still haven't told me where you are."

It was her turn to laugh—wasn't her name self-explanatory? "I'm directly behind you," she giggled. "You could say that I'm attached to you, until you disengage from me, at least. I'm your Rail Guide!"

"But…" he sputtered, confused. "None of the other management rails could communicate, so to speak. Believe me, mate, there were times I actually _tried._"

"I am not sure of how things are going in the modern-day facility," she explained promptly. "I have never been there, that was not my intended purpose. But down here, I can assure you that I am the only one. Do you mean to say that there are _more_ of us, up _there_?"

For a minute, Wheatley was silent. He blinked in confusion, the only sound being the gentle scrape of his eye shutters and hum of inner components as he tilted his hull sideways, curious. "…Yes." He answered. "There are a lot of us—that is to say, other robots, similar to both you and me, but most of them, err…" he paused, wondering how much he dared to say to this new construct. How did he know that he could _trust _her? "Well, out of the ones that _can _talk, there's actually a very, very _tiny _amount that I would talk to, given the chance, due to some, err, more nebulous issues. Nothing to be alarmed about, not for you, at least."

There was the sound of her processing what he'd just said. He used the silence to re-scan this seemingly bottomless chamber, pondering whether there really _was _something down there that would be able to help him or not.

"That is news to me," she said finally. "I have not met any other intelligence, artificial or humanoid in approximately forty-six point two four years. The variance is due to my internal timer having never been properly calibrated."

Wheatley stared blankly. "No matter," Carrie continued. "I am still able to assist you. Do you have a name?"

"Erm, yes," he nodded, just as another, rather alarming thought occurred to him. _She had been alone for forty-eight point two four years? _And he had thought single-handedly manning the relaxation vault for half that had been more trouble than it was worth! "Name's Wheatley, mate."

She hummed again, and so did he, pity stabbing unwillingly like lightning, zinging through his circuitry. It had been difficult enough for him, to spend all of those long years alone, without anybody to talk to…

"What does a _Wheatley_ do?" she asked finally, sounding confused.

Suddenly he realized that he must not be talking to the _brightest _of all artificial intelligence. It was true—if she had indeed been locked down here for about fifty years, then _he _was surely the more advanced of the two, all initial programming sequences aside. He decided that since she was such an _outdated _model, it'd probably be easier to skip to the point, and just tell her what he _was _instead of _who _he is. "I'm a personality construct," he told her, his voice taking a rather bored drawl as he said it.

"Oh."

Wheatley hovered on the edge of silence, trying to decide whether or not he dared tell her what sort of a quest had sent him down into the bowels of the facility. He weighed his options, his chances—on one hand, he could keep silent (though probably difficult to do, at best, now that he knew there was an actual intelligent lifeform listening, capable of conversation) and continue on his search, _alone,_ despite still in her company. Or, he could tell her, and hope for the best that she'd be able to help him in return (which was not a bad idea, he noted, since _her _entire purpose was apparently to assist him in any way he needed assistance!).

"Say," he continued finally. "Maybe I could use a little, err—_assistance_, since you're offering, and all that."

"Sure," she replied in a cheerful buzz. "Please state your objective, personality construct."

"Err…" but the question had made him realize something. _How on earth was he supposed to ask for help with something when he had no bloody idea of what he was trying to do in the first place? _He was not entirely sure of what he was meant to do—_saying _they were going to take over the facility was easy enough, but… "I need to find a-a… a _thing_."

The words had come out before he had meant them to. He stuttered, his optical aperture shrinking in sudden embarrassment as he began to backpedal, positively squirming on the rail. "Right, that's not helpful. Rrrgh, okay, let's try that again."

She waited patiently for him to continue.

"Umm, so I suppose you need to know exactly what sort of _thing _I mean. Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure. Something… something that we could use to control the facility from down here. Like a switch station, or a manual override, back up station, maybe another AI around capable of controlling everything…" he laughed awkwardly. "Because, as, err, _compatible _as I am with the system, I don't think i-it's the best i-idea for me to-to _assume control_, if you know what I'm saying. But someone's gotta do it. Just-just not _me._"

He laughed again, a lot more cheerfully than he felt. Actually, just _saying _it aloud filled his core with dread, as the memories of the last time he had assumed control over the facility floated to the surface of his uneasy mind. He synthesized a large gulp. "S-so, if there'd be any way for you to help me switch on the mainframe down here, and reconnect it, maybe reprogram it to-to take _care_ of the rest of the facility, that'd be really, really great, mate."

It sounded stupid—ludicrous, even. _Why _had he decided to ask her for help? _How _would she ever be able to help him with that? If he were her, he'd have chucked himself into the corrupted core bin by now. He stilled himself as best he could against the jittery nervousness, but he darted his optic around absent-mindedly, silently praying that she didn't understand a word of what he had just uttered.

"Objective assimilated."

"W-what?" he gasped, surprise in every syllable. "You—I mean, fair enough, maybe I-I underestimated you. Wouldn't be the first time, not the first time, definitely not, but… Do you mean to say… Can you —?"

The rest of his sentence was lost amid the sound of frantically churning gyros and cogs—she had activated the management rail motor system without his permission. Normally, he was the one responsible for his own locomotion, but as he shot a single command through the carriage to _brake, _he understood that _she _had full control over _every bit of his movement unless he disengaged… _which, would be fatal, given the bottomless pit below.

As it was such, this was not an option, and Wheatley found himself unconsciously yelling quite loudly in fright—more loudly than he would have liked to admit—startled by the sudden, frantic pace.

"What'd you —" he started, trying to overcome the shock. "Where d'you—wh- _now just hang on a minute!_"

She ignored him, and he stared wildly around, searching for a means to stop her, when he noticed that the _rail she was making for dove almost straight down into blackness. _

"_Arrrghhh!_" he yelled, all feeling in his hull numb with panic. "_No, stop, you're going to kill us!_" when she did not respond he searched for another route, eyeing the approaching change in direction with hostility. "_WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?_" he shouted instead.

"To Interface Station Alpha," she responded coolly.

"_Oh, god_," he groaned, his gyros unpleasantly uncoordinated as she sped him down the steep slope. He shut his eye, prepared to run _splat _into the cement wall growing ever-larger in front of him.

But then, the dreadful sensation of cold air streaming through his circuitry was dimmed as she slowed him. He was trembling, shaking within his outer casing, but the moment he realized, he stopped himself. He opened his optic the tiniest crack, hardly daring to peer around.

"_Ohhh, _blimey." If rail-sickness wasn't a thing before, it definitely was now. He spun his optical plate in a circle with another grumble, drawing his handles in in discomfort.

"That will wear off in approximately two point seven minutes," Carrie informed him.

"Good to know, mate," he shot back sarcastically. Nevertheless, he shook himself as she steered him lightly into an unfamiliar hall. It was pitch-dark, and instinctively he switched on his flashlight, taking in what he could of the new room.

Many surfaces flashed in the light, reflecting a thousand shades of blue. The opposite side of the room was hidden behind a series of PBS pipes and metal grates lining the entire length of the wall. Thick cables were looped around these, dangling like great black snakes, all feeding a snarl of machinery, a computer workstation of sorts. Wheatley noted with disappointment that it seemed far too complex for him to hack it without the help of the lady—he'd need her spindly fingers to hit those keys if he wanted to even turn the damn thing _on_.

Oh, he missed her, and the reminder was enough to send him into a convulsive shiver again. He growled into the empty air, trying to refocus on the task at hand. _Focus._

"Welcome to Interface Station Alpha," Carrie informed him in her level, high voice. "Activation of Workstation A will be required for what we are about to do."

"And what is that, exactly?" he asked without meaning to. "I mean, not that I'm not pleased we're here, of course. Bloody better job than I could have done myself. Brilliant. But I haven't any hands, and neither do you, so I don't see how we're going to be able to _interface with a machine that's obviously supposed to be programmed by humans._"

"That is not of importance," she told him calmly. "Our first objective is to reactivate Workstation A, therefore reactivating the corresponding portion of the mainframe."

She sounded so sure, so calm and cool that Wheatley almost forgot his argument about having a lack-of-hands. "Right," he whispered, remembering almost at once. "I'm an expert hacker. Hacking shouldn't be a problem for me. I'm quite brilliant, if I do say so myself, though of course, most of the button-pushing credit goes to, well, my, ahh—_human. _And, unless my optical processor is jammed, wouldn't be surprising, really—I'm noticing a rather lot of buttons and a regrettable lack of _fingers_ for which to press 'em."

She was silent for a moment. "Then, you have not," a different sort of hum suddenly came from her, and Wheatley jerked his upper handle in surprise, "been designed with any synthetic limbs. Is that correct?"

"Err, no," he stuttered, taken aback at the question. "Hah—see, I'm a _personality construct. _Having _hands _wouldn't be beneficial for my… Design."

Silence. And then —

"You mentioned a human. Do you mean to say that there are still humans alive within the upper portions of this facility?"

The sentence hung heavily in the air.

Wheatley twitched mechanically. "No, actually," he said finally. "They, err—they _died._ Murdered, most of them were."

He dared not tell her that part of that had been _his _fault. No—_not _his fault, not _his _fault! But rather, a series of very unfortunate events (those did seem to follow him around, now, didn't they?), but still, he wasn't in the mood to get into it. Not at the moment. Not when rather important things needed to be done and there was a severe lack of time to get them _done._

Already the lady could have arrived at their destination.

"Murdered?"

She sounded very confused. Wheatley blinked, tilting his optic to the side before nodding, forgetting that she could probably not see him. She registered the movement automatically.

"By who?"

Frustration flared at the question. "Look, I'm sorry to disappoint, but I really would rather _not _get into it right now. Not with, you know, all of this hacking to be done and all. There is _one _human left, a lady, and I brought her down here, because we're both trying to do exactly what it is you said you'd help me with, so if you'd be so kind, can we, y'know, get a _move _on?"

"Of course," she replied politely, and as she spoke her entire frame hummed with unseen mechanical movement. He sensed, rather than heard a-something locking into place, _engaging_, if you will, with objects outside of his peripheral. There was the sound of rhythmic tapping, and by the time he had thought to look down at the interface keyboard, the _somethings _had already begun their work.

"Aaaaaah," he whined, optic focusing on what looked like two uncoiling cords of medium thickness, their metallic surfaces glinting blue in the half-light. "W-wait a minute, just what exactly…"

He stared, transfixed by the sight of these _things_, their ends wriggling of their own accord over the series of switches and dials that covered the interface, the other ends disappearing to connect with an unseen port behind him. "A-are _you _doing this?" he panted, fighting the creeping urge to _get the hell away from those things as quickly as was mechanically possible_, his handles twitching in fright.

"I am controlling these," she replied, and one of the cords raised its end to unveil a three-pronged mechanical hand, which waved cheerily at him. Wheatley still stared, torn between repulsion and fascination. Carrie used his apparent confusion to press the biggest button of the lot, and the machine whirred to life with a series of automated _beeps _and the sound of a giant fan somewhere being activated.

Trying to sound nonchalant, Wheatley simulated a throat-clearing sound. "So," he sighed, watching her work. "You've got, err, a set of great big claws at your disposal. Very handy, I will admit, not that I've ever had the fortunate experience of having anything of the sort. Or, um, well that's not _completely _true, there was one rather—_ahem—_time, don't like to mention it, really, where I was able to control _quite _a lot more than just my own movements."

Carrie paused. "You were equipped with a carrying device as well?" she asked, interest evident in her usually bland voice. "Is that an optional upgrade, for a personality construct?"

"Ah," Wheatley said awkwardly. "Err—no."

"Then why did you have it installed?"

Wheatley simulated an impatient sound, becoming annoyed with being questioned. Wasn't the tone of his voice enough to show that he wasn't comfortable talking about those experiences? Really, what would he have to do, _spell _it out for her?

_Bloody primitive constructs. Proper mad, she is, _he mused, and then cleared his throat. "The facility was in trouble. Needed a manual override, if you will, much similar to what we, err, are trying to accomplish now. Except _that _time there had been some—_hah—unfortunate _side-effects, all remedied, of course, nothing to worry about, mate."

Silence, and Wheatley's optic traveled back down to the interface, hopeful that his answer had satisfied her _annoying _curiosity.

However, it seemed that Carrie was not satisfied, but more intrigued. "What exactly _is _a _personality construct?_" she asked. "What is your function within the new Enrichment Center?"

"Oh, bloody hell," he groaned. "Will you just—can we move onto another topic, perhaps, something _outside _of me? Yes. A _tad _less focus on me, and more-more _hacking_, yeah?"

Carrie did not say anything for a long while, and Wheatley watched her work in silence. A series of four monitors had been lit-up, the only sources of light in the pitch-dark room besides both his and Carrie's optic (hers, he supposed, was responsible for the dim sort of yellowish glow to his left). The monitors didn't display much of anything he could understand, though, just series of flashing numbers and code, all of which flickered through too quickly for him to focus on. Not that he was trying, anyways. It was a bit dull, watching her work, but he sat contented, giving the odd _twitch _as a jolt of movement from those _cords _was sent through Carrie's body to his own.

But keeping quiet was not something he was ever good at doing. "Huh."

When she didn't respond, a bit more frustration blazed through his circuitry—_sure_, the lady never responded to him, either, but he had no_ factual _proof that she was even _capable _of speaking. Carrie, though—_she _was more than able, and he was starting to get a feeling of moral obligation towards her, of _responsibility_, if you will, since it had been his decision to inform her of the dubious task he had assigned himself.

"All right, mate," he said finally, not able to stand the sight of her slogging away another moment longer, "Do you need any help, with anything? Anything at all? Maybe I could, y'know, give you a commentary on what's displayed on the monitor, I'm good at that—not so much the button-pressing, as discussed earlier, but you appear to be doing just fine with that on your own!" He nodded for emphasis, fully confident that she'd be able to find a job for him despite his serious lack of locomotion.

"I do not require help at this stage. Only information," she replied, her focus never leaving the interface.

"Oh. Uhh—right, then."

"Hold on," said Carrie suddenly. "There is a task I could use your help with while I work."

Wheatley tore his optic away from the screen. "Okay. What is it?" he asked enthusiastically.

"I would like you to search for a disk for me," she said, and no sooner had she said it than Wheatley had realized that the monitor was now displaying a new message: _Insert Disk into Drive._ "It appears that the programming disk is missing, and it is needed for me to complete the next stage. It should be here…" she told him, and he knew that she meant it was somewhere within this mess of a room they were in.

Which was unfortunate, to say the least—the floor had been covered in countless years of dust and debris, twisted, shining metal and a stack of papers sitting atop a nearby desk had been cemented together with age. Wheatley made a small noise of distaste, the light of his flashlight shining over many reflective surfaces. How was he supposed to locate a disk in this mess? "Okay," he replied, trying to sound optimistic but failing. "Let's start over here, then—yes, this looks neat, or, not _neat_, farthest thing from neat, really, but interesting, and, umm, disk-containing. Yes."

He tried to focus the beam of light, but it was difficult. He began a methodical search, scanning the room from left to right in order to see every surface, but it proved impossible.

"_Errrruuughhh!_" he groaned in frustration. "I can't see it anywhere in this light!"

"I will turn the lights on." Her voice was level again, not quite bored, maybe dazedly interested, but he felt a wave of fury light up every circuit in his CPU—why hadn't she turned the lights on _before? _Would have made it a lot less difficult! He grumbled, but didn't complain aloud. That was another good thing about the lady, versus _this _robot—the lady always looked for the light-switch _first_.

"Commencing luminosity-system startup. Close your eye, personality construct."

"Close my—oh, _what?_"

He felt his optical aperture constrict of its own accord, so suddenly it almost hurt. He groaned again, blinked in the sudden bright lights, and then spotted it immediately—the disk in question had been lying innocently atop a nearby desk.

"There it is!" he yelled triumphantly. "I've found it, eh, found it right away. Record time, too, pretty good! Well done!"

In his excitement, he tried to do a loop-the-loop type movement within his casing, but he realized the problem a second too late—his frame caught painfully against the top of the port from which he was suspended. He did not hear Carrie's gasp of pain over his own whine of feedback, and a display of sparks shot out of the back of him. He didn't see them, but he certainly felt them, and the shock itself was enough to drain any elation he may have felt at the discovery of the disk.

"_Well_," he groaned, more than himself than to anyone. "Definitely not going to try that again, I'll tell ya."

"Yes, please don't," she didn't sound impressed, but she did sound a little amused. "You _sparked_."

"Yes, I did, now can we please move past that properly _amusing _fact, and concentrate on this hack job? That was sarcasm, by the way, didn't think you picked it up. It's _not_ funny."

She didn't reply—instead, she rotated backwards on the management rail, the cords finding the small disk and carefully lifting it from the desk. Its surface glinted briefly in the light as she brought it back to the interface machine, inserting it promptly into one of the drives. "Well done, personality construct," she finally spoke when the disk was accepted, a little more cheerful. "I knew you could find it!"

Wheatley did not know what to make of this—was she making fun again? He tried to stammer a response, shifting awkwardly, some deep, primal part of him registering the verbal praise. Compliments weren't something he was used to, his only _friend _being a human who either did not want to talk to him, or couldn't (he hoped it was the latter, since it would have been extremely mortifying to find out that his so-called 'companion', or 'escape-partner', had really just been ignoring him out of spite all this time).

To be honest, he had never received a true compliment aloud, at least not according to his memory banks. The result was literally no concept whatsoever of what to say in response except for a few stammered words of surprise, joined with an uncomfortable wave of his handles. It was a weird feeling.

"I, well—it wasn't difficult, really, not for an old pro like myself. Uhh, expert disk-finder, yes, I'll add that to the list of things I am exceptionally good at. Note number-number… What're we on now? Seven? That sounds good, eh, seven's a lucky number. Good karma, and all that, and we're going to need it! Just in a nick of time."

"The socially-acceptable response upon receiving praise is the words 'thank you', or a binary equivalent," Carrie informed him. Though her tone contained no trace of malice, Wheatley felt as though it had dropped to a lower, icier octave. "Have all personality constructs been programmed with such an inadequate response databank? You talk a lot, personality construct, but you don't have anything to say in reply to standard auditory reward protocol. It is unusual."

He tried to sputter a reply, but could not come up with anything better to say than a quiet murmur of 'thanks'. "You're welcome," she responded, and he watched her metallic claws press one solitary button upon the interface.

"Personality construct, now is the time where I will require a single command from you to enter into the interface. You wanted to activate the mainframe, is that correct?" she asked seriously.

"Yes."

His voice was confident, unyielding—quite the opposite in comparison to how he suddenly felt. What if this _wasn't _the right thing to do? What if he had led himself—_and _his test subject, his _friend_—into a death trap, and by entering this command, he was, in essence, sealing their fate in the depths of this condemned Test Shaft?

He swallowed hard as best a robot with no mouth could.

"You would like me to initiate a manual override on the default and reinstate automatic connection to the backup system DOS V.1.07a Prototype, once it is powered up?"

"Yes, that."

"Programming directive?"

"To, err—take over the Enrichment Center, and by doing so, destroy—_h-her._"

"Of course," Carrie responded sweetly. "Setting system parameters. Objective: Reinstate control over Up. Enrichment Center. But personality construct," she suddenly froze, midway through typing foreign code into the interface. "You do realize that this command could ultimately destroy the Enrichment Center? The _Artificial Nano-compilation Intelligence Mechanism and Lifeform OS_ was sealed off along with the contents of Test Shaft Ten on January 31st, 1986, due to several unforeseen errors. Allowing reconnection could be fatal to all life-forms. The scientists sealed this Test Shaft for the sole purpose of never reactivating the Prototype. That's why they—scientists, left us… I mean, me. Down here. Alone."

"I…"

Wheatley was frozen, torn between what were seemingly two entirely separate internal forces. There was a lost side of him, something that had not previously existed, developed from the long days he had spent within the lady's company, beginning to resurface. It ground against his conscience, his better judgement; it was the part of him that did not believe that the lady had suffered brain damage. It was the small, hidden segment that was responsible for everything he had managed to complete successfully: his dominance over the mainframe, clever plans.

That was the _evil _side, he told himself. It's what it felt like. It had grown like a hidden parasite, sometimes poisonous, sometimes well-hidden within an innocent exterior. That was the part that had been responsible for his more astute traps, and the times in which he _had _almost kill her. He would never let that part of himself show through again; and currently, that very same part of him was telling him to _abandon the plan, go back, and take the lady back into the Enrichment Center where _she _would deal with her._

Yeah, _right._

"Yes," he said, his vocal processor sounding surprisingly strong after the silence. "We'll risk it."

He was not exactly sure of what might happen, but whatever system was down here _had _to be better than _her._ The sound of rapid beeps cut through his thoughts, and Wheatley focused back onto the screens. It was displaying some sort of blueprint mapping system now, a Doppler image, sort of like the one he himself had obtained from the different turret. If only that mapping system had been able to work all the way down here inside his own system.

A message flashed briefly across the screen as an area of the map was lit up orange. '_Target Acquired'._

"Station Alpha is now online," Carrie told him in her usual monotone. "The Network in this area has been activated. I will now reprogram the directives."

He _almost _felt guilty about being able to do so little himself, although it didn't last long. He was uncomfortably aware that he probably _wouldn't_ have been able to do this without her help. He watched her long arms quietly while she fiddled with a few more things, a flicker of messages flashing across the screen.

_Transmitting mission objective from Station Alpha to corresponding coordinates…_

_ Transmitting…_

_ Verifying incoming data compatibility with V. 1.07a Prototype…_

_ Transmission has been received and processed by all stations. Target: reinstate control over Central AI (Generic Life-form and Disk Operating System) and Up. Enrichment Center._

"Target has been identified," Carrie informed him. "I will now escort you to Interface Station Beta."

"_Bollocks_," Wheatley whined, suddenly very much aware of just how long this single activation had taken them. Where was the lady? Was she all right?

He doubted that she'd be able to find him in such a trivial place. He'd need to move out into the open and be visible. They had arranged to meet at the bottom of the Shaft, hadn't they?

"How many bloody Stations have you got down here?" he asked, tearing his optic away from the display.

"Four," she said simply. "Four mainframe connection stations, which each oversee a specific area of the network corresponding to actual locations on the upper power grids. There is also the main power supply in the basement here, the Central AI, which we will need to activate before any of the system commands can be completed."

"Oh," he sighed, not really understanding a word of what she had just said. "Okay, then."

"I am now ready to proceed with the second stage. Are you ready, personality construct?"

"I… Err, yes, I suppose so."

Trying to simulate false cheerfulness, Wheatley tipped his eye shutters in a smile as Carrie ushered him from the room. Through the door, they re-entered the cavernous space that appeared to make up the center of the Shaft, which was just as bottomless-seeming and eerie as it had been when they last left it. Wheatley automatically scanned the huge, low hanging testing spheres, groaning a little in disappointment when he saw no sight of an orange jumpsuit, and no familiar face.

"Oi, mate," he called to Carrie. "About how long d'you think the rest of this is going to take? Activating these other three Stations, and all that?"

"Estimated time of completion is in approximately three hours."

"Oh, bother." It was too long—_far _too long—if he wanted to meet the woman somewhere before they both entered into the last level of the Shaft. He had hoped that he'd find her before then, but she had not yet tripped the fire alarm (good thing they had thought of a way of emergency communication, otherwise he'd have been twice as worried about her) which was a great sign.

Unless, of course she was too incapacitated to trigger it, in which case, it wasn't good, not _at all_.

"No, she's _fine_," he told himself, realizing too late that he had spoken the words aloud, muttering a bit too absent-mindedly as Carrie sped him down the track towards their next destination.

"Who are you talking about?" she asked in confusion, slowing them a little.

Wheatley silently scolded himself. "Oh, just my human, err, my friend," he continued shyly. "The one I told you about, a little earlier. She's the last, the last human left alive, and it's rather important that I find her. We got split up an hour or two ago, and she's supposed to meet me on the last level. She should be fine, though, perfectly fine, it's not like she hasn't been through worse before. A lot worse, actually. Umm… she's probably already there, waiting for us, I'll bet!" he spun his plates, half-convinced that she was already there, his confidence in the lady shining through him, causing his optic to glow two whole shades brighter. "Yeah, I'll bet she's there already! Can we hurry up? Does this thing go any faster?"

"I have one question," Carrie replied, ignoring his suggestion but increasing her speed all the same. "Before, when you said that you had brought a human, I was not sure whether to believe you, or not. Do you mean to say that yes, you have brought a human on this quest with you, into the testing areas?"

He nodded.

"Is she a test subject?" she asked curiously.

"Mhmm," he hummed. "She is, and she's the best one, never mind her being the last. It's _why _she's the last. Best, last, same difference, really. Proper nice lady. She's the one who hacked this old vault open! With my help, too, of course, couldn't have done it without me, really."

"You will have to be careful," Carrie responded, sounding suddenly worried. "Both of you. It is not advisable, to interact with most of the equipment in this Test Shaft. Especially not for humans."

She had caught his attention whether she had known it or not—his aperture shrank a little, despite the cheerfulness that had just been spreading an unexplainable warmth through his circuitry. "Sorry, what?" he coughed. "W-what d'you mean?"

"I mean," she said, a little less like an automated bit of machinery, and more like a human herself, "that I will help you and your human, personality construct, but it is not advisable for the Prototype to be activated in the presence of a human. I do not doubt that you have good reason to have located this Test Shaft against state and federal regulations, but bear in mind that once the Central AI is reactivated, it is best your human does not remain inside of the Enrichment Center, Upper or Lower."

_Well_, he thought. _Can't be any worse than _she_is, can it?_ "It's all right. Everything's good, we've got a back-up-escape plan, and all."

As he spoke, his optic flickered back towards the testing spheres—_was the lady in there? She hadn't landed herself back in testing, had she? Was she encountering any more of that red goo?—_He did hope she'd be okay.

"I hope you've got a really good plan," Carrie warned, "Because that's what _they _said, before they had to seal this place up for good."

Wheatley tore his optic away from the testing spheres with difficulty. "It's the best thing we've got," he told Carrie with a nod. "And she might be crazy, but she's smart, and she's strong, and she'll get out of here. Somehow. Even if I don't."

And as he said it, he felt a stab of fear spike through his circuitry, fully aware that this was possibly how it would have to be. She'd go on without him, if he died, and take his empty form with him if she could.

He just prayed that, first, they'd both make it to their meeting place alive.


	14. Is Anyone There?

**Target Acquired**

**Chapter Fourteen - Is Anyone There?** (Achievement name from Portal: Still Alive!)

* * *

A heavy-breathing, sweaty, disgruntled human stepped through what must have felt like the thousandth emancipation grill of the day. Her back ached, her mouth was dry and her eyes watered in the bright lights of the chamber, all flashing on at once with little warning. Their respective, echoing crashes slammed through the room into her ears and she cringed.

Everything _hurt._

The device, strapped heavily to her sore back did not help the hot pain seeping through her, nor the physical exhaustion. It did help, however, with test solving; shrugging off the discomfort, Chell shuffled forwards with the usual metallic ring of the long-fall-boots. Sweat dripped into her eyes, but she was well past the point of even noticing.

A fluorescently lit panel on the wall next to her displayed two large, yellow numbers: a zero, and then a nine. _Testing sphere number nine, _she mused silently, as the ancient lights hummed above her head. _Only one more test to go and then I'm out of here._

But it was not a relief, not really. Her eyes were already strained, her feet hurt. Worry was growing strong in her heart, a gathering darkness of barely-concealed panic, fear that her escape-partner had gotten himself into trouble. It wouldn't be unprecedented, not since his programming had led him into much worse situations before…

Precious time had been wasted since she had last seen him, back in the stairwell. Even now, he could be in danger, or worse, lost. When she had set out, all concern had been for her own safety, it was true. She hadn't worried much for his sake, and the feeble plan he had suggested was only for her benefit—a core could not raise the fire alarm, false or no.

She swallowed hard and wiped her forehead—it was hot down here, much warmer than the rest of the Enrichment Center had been. She was standing at the entrance to a labyrinth-style test chamber, a complicated mass of interconnected rooms and chambers, all home to buttons and dials, switches, levels, and not to mention deadly acid pits.

A pedestal button stood innocently a few paces in front of her. It was grimy, coated with ages of dirt and grease from filthy fingertips, no doubt. She made to reach out for it, but at that moment an unseen motion sensor somewhere was tripped, and a loud, male voice sounded from the speakers high up on the walls:

"Cave Johnson, here," he introduced himself and Chell's free hand flew up to cover her ear against the volume. "Welcome to the final test. That's right, test subject, well done. Thank you for helping us forward Science with your, er… Well, here at Aperture Science, we always appreciate our test subjects, whether they're famous war heroes or… hoboes. Hah. No, couldn't keep a straight face. When you're finished, just drop the device in the Equipment Recovery Annex, and just follow the silver line on the floor. We're going to need to go ahead and perform one last medial experiment on you to see if you've gotten any new tumors from testing with the Gel. Because if you have, we're going to have to go and get those out of you pretty quick. …Of course, we'll need to check if you followed all of the safety precautions as well. Damn OSHA inspectors. They'll just need to see that you've still got your vitreous humor before you leave."

Chell grimaced, trying to steady her breath to ease the pain blossoming within her head from his loudness. Tumors? _Oh, probably, _she thought in annoyance. She probably had dozens of them, what with all of the unethical experiments she had endured during her time at Aperture. _Why_ did she keep getting headaches again? She found herself not really wanting to know.

The sooner she got out of here, the better.

Ignoring the button for now, she hoisted the heavy machinery further onto her back with a _bump._ The antennae on top swung a little with the motion, vibrating as they whipped back and apparatus was large and towered over her, nearly as tall as she was on its own. The ancient harness she had managed to clasp around her torso was stained and broken; she had to pause to readjust it on numerous occasions, wasting even more precious time.

It was nearly twice as difficult as carrying Wheatley had been (admittedly, the worst of that had been a result of her having been inactive in cryosleep for so long beforehand), and if she had to make a decision of which she would have preferred to take along, she would have chosen the core.

Well… Maybe not in here, because right now, she needed portals to complete this final test.

Chell's right trigger finger twitched, shooting a pale, grey-colored portal on an adjacent platform. She shot another behind her and walked through, only giving a moment's acknowledgement to the oval holes—for she missed her _real _portal device, the lightweight, compact edition, which had color-coded portals and handy lights. This one shot bland portals, very similar in color to the surrounding walls, making it difficult to see them, not to mention difficult to remember which one was where.

Standing on the platform, she could now see the entire chamber. Behind a wide emancipation grill, a central, hollowed-out area was home to a very large expanse of bubbling, foul acid, which was sending reeking, curling smoke into the air. On the other side of this was the exit, seemingly a long way off and shrouded in that same sparkling blue.

Wrinkling her nose against the corrosive, metallic stink of the acid, she searched for any ledge or portable surface that would allow her access to the exit. There were none, she noted with disappointment, returning back to the beginning of the test.

Another one of Cave Johnson's messages sounded as she approached the button for the second time. She was in a hurry, and no nearer to solving the test than she had been upon entering it, but she stopped to listen in spite of herself.

"Anyways," Cave said with a cough, "you're probably wondering if we've cooked up any new surprises for this next test, and normally my answer for you would be: 'OF COURSE WE HAVE, TEST SUBJECT! What is Science without a few dangerous surprises? Well, I'll tell you what it is, it's boring! Safe! Unchallenging! I've said it once, and I'll say it a million times, and record it so that it's heard every day: WHY DON'T YOU MARRY SAFE SCIENCE IF YOU LOVE IT SO MUCH! I've got my engineers conducting a-million-and-one unsafe, untested experiments here, just like you, test subject, and they're not complaining! If they do, they are _FIRED, _and they know it!_' _

"Ahem. But not you, test subject, not today. There's no surprises. We're saving those for the newer testing tracks being built over in Enrichment Shaft 09—you might've already heard, but we're going to phase out Conduction Gel."

Well—no surprises was always a good thing. She doubted that _his_ surprises could be any worse than _hers, _but she didn't want to test that theory, not here, not now. Her breath quickened as she looked about, searching for the answer—there had to be one, there was always one, somewhere—

"Yeah," came Cave's gruff voice again, much calmer than before. "Recent discoveries have showed that lunar sediment could be a great portal conductor. So I have the engineers figuring that out now—going to grind up some moon rocks, mix 'em into a Gel…"

"But Sir," said a gentle, female voice, "We haven't got enough money to buy them."

"Money? That's never stopped us before, Caroline!" he answered her loudly. "Great Science can't be thrown aside because 'money'! Our Science follows no rules! None! It's our job to break them! Where would we be if we followed 'em? _Nowhere_, I tell you! Nowhere! We make up our own rules. No, if the Quantum Tunneling Device can shoot interspacial portals through solid matter, I'm ordering seventy-_million_ dollars' worth of moon rocks _tomorrow morning! _The bank can eat my pale, lunar—"

"Sir, but what about the Conduction Gel?"

"The Conduction Gel? The engineers said it'll be useful. We're going to build a giant supercomputer with it, capable of running this place from top to bottom. The testing spheres, the offices, everything. We'll build most of it right above here, new test chambers, new complexes—all connected on the same mainframe, hooked up to the Enrichment Shaft, down here."

"But, Mister Johnson, the employees—"

"We'll use 'em for testing, like we've been doing. Won't need any more of those lazy office-workers, not with the computer around. No need for engineers with the nanoparticles online. Capable of replicating themselves a thousand times over in a second! Hah. _They _can build this place, and the Enrichment Center can run itself from top to bottom… It'll be like, this whole place is a giant brain, it'll be _my _brain. My brain, my rules! And you guys'll have to follow em. HAH, eat that, Black Mesa! That'll show the bank how much this company's worth! I'll run this place until I die. Caroline, are the lunar sediment application forms ready yet?"

He stopped speaking, and Chell stared with a half-open mouth up at the speaker. Was he talking about—wait, what _was _he talking about? It had to be _her, _her early days that he was discussing. Very, _very _early days, maybe. There were so many omnipotent AIs this place could hold, right?

Unless… unless he was talking about the—how had Wheatley put it?—'the backup systems'. But then, they would not have been backup systems at all, but _part _of her, her prototype—

Which meant that activating it could be every ounce as dangerous as entering _her _chamber was.

Chell jumped about a foot as Cave Johnson cleared his throat. "Well, let's wrap up this last test, then," he was saying. "And test subject, try not to use too much of the Conduction Gel down there, all right? We're gonna need all the nanoparticles we can get. Cave Johnson, we're done here."

And the speaker filled with static, marking the end of the pre-recorded messages.

She breathed deeply, her eyes scanning the wide test chamber, but not really seeing it. At least Cave's messages proved one thing: Wheatley had been partially right, and their mission had not been in vain—yet.

But it would be, if she lost the core now. Her grip tightening on the end of the portal device, Chell marched forwards with a determined, hard step, her clear, wild eyes filled with focus—the faster she got out of here, the more chance of success their plan would have.

Providing that Wheatley hadn't already found himself in more trouble than she had.

* * *

Perhaps if the lady had been with him, and if he had never met his rail-carrier, he might've voiced just how astounded he was that the management rail down here was in such admirable condition. It was true, most of the side-rails, the unimportant branches that criss-crossed and weaved between walls had fallen, creating a mass of crumbling, hanging poles and rods. These rails, the lesser ones that fed pump stations and power switches had rusted away completely, but his main one, the one which his rail-carrier led him down, was in perfect working order.

Lower and lower she guided him on these rails, on a path he very much could have found himself, he felt like saying; he could do it alone, but alone was a lot more lonely. Though, sometimes, here and there, he thought he caught very vague glimpses of movement along the walls, shadows; flashes of light and dark, always bland colors, never bright orange. He never heard anything, though, which made him think he was seeing things. The only sounds that could be heard down here were the very-eerie creaking groans of metal joints bending with the earth, supporting the miles of facility above. Carrie whirred along through this in silence, and in an attempt to ignore the unwanted, haunted sounds of the Shaft, Wheatley spoke ceaselessly. In fact, he spoke so much, and she remained quiet for so long, listening, that after a while, he began to doubt that she wanted to talk to him anymore.

"And so, once we had gotten all the way to _her _chamber, after sabotaging _her _turrets and taking the neurotoxin offline—proper excited we were, too, couldn't believe it! We were about to take _her _down, finally!—some announcer-bloke informed us that _she _was becoming corrupt and needed a '_core transfer'. _So, of course, I had no bloody idea of what that was supposed to mean, although, it sounded good. It sounds good, doesn't it? Very _impressive_, if I'm honest, … 'core transfer'.

"Well, it's not, actually, it's not fun at all, _very _painful, and I'm not sure I want to go on with the story, even. Not something I really want to remember. Painful, looking back, for a lot of reasons, even though it was bloody tremendous at first."

But Carrie did not respond, and he darted his optic up to try to catch a glimpse of her in vain. _Not even bloody listening, I'll bet, _he thought in annoyance and synthesized the sound of a deep breath. Then, determined to rouse a reaction out of her, he fretfully continued his story.

"Right. 'Core transfer'," he started again as Carrie slid distractedly along the rail, "as I was saying, pretty painful procedure, sure. Do _not_ want to go through that again, if I'm honest. So-so what happened next, was there was a stalemate, you see, because _she _didn't want to go through with it, but I did. Lucky for me I had my human on my side, and, being a human and all, she was equipped with a finger, with which she pressed the button. Brilliant, fingers, aren't they? So she pressed it, and by doing so, you're not going to believe this, mate, not going to believe it, it's crazy—_she put me in charge of the whole facility! _See, I told you, I told you, you wouldn't believe it! It's mad, honestly!"

He felt the vibration of gears as Carrie slowed on the management rail, causing his sphere to sway as the apparatus halted. Jubilant, he tried again to turn toward her, beaming despite the unwanted memories (they didn't seem so shady anymore, not when he wasn't alone), and said, "I knew you wouldn't! Although, well, it happened, I assure you. Not making this up. Tiny little ol' me! In charge of everything! Mind you, I wasn't so tiny, not when—"

"_Sssssssssshhhh!_" she hummed unexpectedly, and Wheatley fell silent in surprise.

"What's going on?" he asked her quietly.

She did not answer, but Wheatley had the strangest feeling that she was listening for something, listening intently. But as to what, he was completely at sea.

"D'you mind—"

"_Quiet!_"

Her sharp tone sent his plates into tremors of fear. He could sense something was wrong, too, now that he'd stopped—a feeling of foreboding was creeping into him, an unexplainable signal that something bad was about to happen. It was like water droplets running through his circuitry, slithering and crawling until he was trembling with its unpleasantness.

And unwillingly, the worry that had plagued him since the stairwell, since he had left his friend there, sprang suddenly to the forefront of his mind—was the lady okay?

But before he could ask Carrie exactly what she was listening for, she spoke again in low, serious tones. "I am picking up a signal through this management rail, but as to where it is coming from, or what it is, I have no idea."

_Signal? Through the management rail? _It was the last thing he had expected. "But only a computer could…" he said quietly in wonder.

"I know," replied Carrie seriously. "Come on, personality construct. We will visit the last of the four Interface Stations, and then we will need to find your human. There is something-something wrong here, but I am not sure what. Let's hope we find the problem before the problem finds us."

"What d'you mean, 'the problem finds us'. Surely—?"

But before he could ask anything else, she _shush_ed him again. "It is best you don't talk while we journey through the open spaces, personality construct. Even I don't know what is listening anymore."

He fell silent, but the creeping, fearful feeling within his core did not fade. He wondered, more desperately than ever before—_where was the lady? _And was she all right?

* * *

A dirt-stained, blackened fist slammed down hard onto a red button. A loud _bleep _sounded from the apparatus, and then—

_Ticktickticktickticktick._

It was a timer.

Crystal-blue eyes followed a set of neat, yellow dots which flashed back to aqua a moment later—up and up, to the emancipation grill emitters.

She hit the button again, and the grill disappeared. Dry, cracked lips split into a hesitant smile of triumph. The solution was near at hand.

Immediately, she portalled up to a high ledge overlooking the chamber. A button was here, too, connected with a Gel pipe wider than her own body, stained with clumps of that sickly, ominously luminous red substance she was getting to know oh-so well.

Conduction Gel.

And she hated it the most, oh, did she ever—it was slippery, sort of like Propulsion Gel, but she could not run faster on it. It smelled bad, like the rest, but what made it so curious were its properties. So far, she had discovered that if placed in a parallel strip, it was capable of moving a metal storage cube from one end of it to the other _by itself. _It also allowed the cubes to defy gravity, similar to what an excursion funnel might have done (dimly she thought that the idea for the funnel had probably come from this Gel itself). It stuck cubes to buttons even on the ceiling like a magnet, and formed a hard layer, almost like metal anywhere she shot it—including across deadly acid pits.

This was why she smiled as she pressed the last button. As she had guessed, it shot out of the dispenser above her head, and she redirected it through a slanted panel—the stream vaulted high, high across the chamber, and splattered noisily along the surface of the acid pit. It stuck there, like a weird, glowing, Aperture Science version of a dance floor, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Well, at least she wouldn't have to smell any more of that nasty acid, not yet, anyways.

The timer ran out and the emancipation flashed once more across the middle of the chamber. It didn't matter anymore, it was done, but at the same time, the portal through which the Gel was still splashing vanished—leaving Chell a space of about two seconds in which she realized that the stream of Gel _was now headed right for her!_

_Srrrrrreeeeeaaakkkk!_ Her boots ground against the concrete floor with a painful noise as she dove bodily out of the way. The final bits of Gel flashed past her and hit a wall with a splash, narrowly missing the back of her head. She let out a mute, startled groan as she let herself fall into a sitting position, shaking, wiping her dirty hands on her jumpsuit pants. Long streaks appeared there, dirty, but also striped with blood.

She had cut her hands on the concrete, when she flung them out to break her fall.

_Great, _she mused unhappily, noting the buzzing, tingling stinging that spiked as she realized she'd been cut. Out of sight, out of mind was the way she liked minor cuts, for the pain always tripled whenever she noticed she'd been hurt…

She sat until she caught her breath, rubbing the spots where the machine was digging into her back. There were spots of blood on the ground where her palms had been torn.

_Probably going to get a disease from cross-contamination, _she groaned to herself, but stood shakily—at least she felt more awake now, with the adrenaline pumping through her and each still-frantic beat of her heart. Before the incident had happened, she had felt dead on her feet.

With a grimace of pain, Chell began to cross the Gel-bridge. It was no hard light bridge, that was for sure, but it felt stable under her feet all the same. Eyes upon the exit, she tried to regulate her breathing, it was so close, _so close…_

She shivered as she passed through the last pair of doors and stepped into the elevator. Shaking, she slumped against the side of the lift, aware that this was the first elevator where no pre-recorded message played. Instead, the lift jangled downwards, and for a moment she could see nothing outside of the lift but blackness—then a sliver of light bathed her boots in yellow and rose, until it hit her straight in the face. She blinked, hoisted the machine further onto her back in preparation, and waited for the metal grills to rattle open.

But they did not do so. She waited patiently.

A sign to her left, just outside of the lift, caught her eye. It read:

'_Please wait for an attendant to activate the elevator catwalk control_'.

She slammed her fist hard against the still-closed lift gates. They rang loudly with the impact, echoing out into the Shaft beyond.

They remained firmly shut. Chell slumped back against the wall with wide eyes. She was trapped.

* * *

The rail was visible as only a solitary black line cutting through a mass of fog. As they had descended ever closer to the bottom, it only grew, pressing in until it felt as though it clouded his very mind. It was so dense, so dark down here that Wheatley toyed with the idea of turning on his flashlight, but almost as though Carrie could read his thoughts, she warned him not to do so.

"We should stay invisible," she had said, and heard nothing of his protests.

The fog was almost chilly, in comparison with how the rest of the Shaft had been. Wheatley shivered involuntarily, though he had no need for warmth. It was different, somehow, than just being cold. The mist chilled him from the inside out.

Carrie's previous warning still laid heavily on his mind. _"It is best you don't talk while we journey through open spaces, personality construct. Even I don't know what is listening anymore." _What did that even _mean, _he wanted to could be listening to him, aside from the very person he was trying to find in this gloom?

His optic darted up to the last, hanging metal sphere, its surface distant. Even through the fog he could make out an uneven pattern of faded triangles tinged green and rust-colored, oxidized over years and years of pressing pale mist. Was the lady in _there?_ He had thought, once or twice, that he might have caught a glimpse of her. Occasionally it was the motion of a lift, perhaps the sound of a distant voice, echoing through the empty spaces. But it was the wrong kind of voice, surely not hers, if ever did she have one; it was deeper, probably just some strange, warped reverberation from something stirring within the depths of the facility.

And in the depths he almost was. Almost at the very bottom of the Shaft, where he had agreed with the lady to meet. Still, there was no sign of her anywhere down here, not while he peered around, his optic darting nervously from wall to wall. He only saw the outlines of huge structures towering above, more of those control rooms and stations, not even with a flash of bright orange.

Directly below, it was a ten-or-so foot drop to the bottom, the very base of the Shaft. A green, thick, steaming layer of toxic goo glistened eerily there as he watched it, sliding beneath him as Carrie towed him along.

"Proper nasty sludge, this is," he said, thankful that he was still high enough to not graze its acidic surface. Even from this height, he trembled, drawing his handles in as if afraid the curling, circling wisps of smoke could burn him. It didn't matter how far away the acid was, because to him, _no _ground was almost better than a sick, burning sea.

His circuitry swam, tired of the constant, gruelling motion of the rail motor, and the nerves eating away at him like the toxic goo below, corroding ancient stone and hunks of fallen debris. He groaned, "_how _much _further_," a little more impatiently than he would have normally done. Time was running out. Countless hours had been spent on finding and fixing all Interface Stations, and only now were they finally ready for the next stage of the operation…

…If only he could find the lady.

"Not far now," Carrie replied in a whisper. The lower they had gotten in the Shaft, the quieter she had become. Maybe she was feeling a little of what Wheatley was feeling—that the air itself was somehow different than that of above. Perhaps it was just the mist clouding his vision, but it somehow felt denser than that.

It was rough, lonely going for the pair of them. Wheatley kept his optic peeled for the lady, and Carrie kept her 'ears' open for any other strange signal coming through the management rail. There was nothing.

And where was the lady?

Suddenly, Carrie spoke, while Wheatley watched the process of a swaying black wire a distance away, lighting the walls in patches where sparks spewed from its end. "Where are you to meet up with your human?" she asked.

"Oh," he said dazedly, distracted. "S'not too far, I don't think. We said near the bottom, and there it is." He gestured towards the acid pool. "Although, I don't think she'd go in there, that's acid, that is. So, uhh, are there any more of those control stations nearby? Any at all? I'll bet she's proper tired, probably having a little rest, actually, wherever she is."

"Yes, there are," answered Carrie. "In fact, there is one just up ahead."

Sure enough, through the fog, a giant shape loomed, jutting out from the rock. It was a massive station, some seven or more floors high. Its sides were filled with row upon row of shattered window and its walls were a sprawling mass of cracked, worn cement.

And yet there were lightsshining from some of the windows. Pale, ghostly lights, little circles that did nothing to cut through the gloom. Wheatley shivered.

Wait—_lights?_

"OH!" he gasped suddenly in realization. "Oh, oh! There are lights on, in there! I'll bet my human turned them on! Yes, of course, I'll bet that's where she is!" He wiggled in excitement on the rail. "See, I _knew _we'd make it!" he cheered.

"Yes," said Carrie quietly, lost deep in thought, "someone has been inside. There is no electricity this far down unless activated manually. The power grid was disconnected many years ago—someone would have had to override the system to turn on the lights."

"Right," said Wheatley, not listening. "Let's go in!" he smiled at the thin air in front of him.

She guided him along the rail, over the acid pit, finally finding a small opening in a side wall, just big enough for the rail carrier and her cargo to pass through. For a moment, everything went dark, but they popped out the other side into a completely unfamiliar room.

"Oooh," Wheatley chirped, interested. "Wow, what is this place?" He blinked, looking around the room, his optic tiny in the sudden lights. A series of chairs were below, all facing a stage and podium that had been erected beside a wall papered with many peeling posters. A single, dusty microphone sat on top of the podium.

"It is part of the test subject debriefing protocol," Carrie said seriously. "This is where the test subjects who had completed the application process waited to be called into testing. Also, this is where they held informative meetings."

"Oh, I see," he muttered, his eye drifting over the fading walls and cracked, grimy windows. It finally rested upon an open doorway, just a little ways into the room.

He could see a desk in there, covered with paperwork, no doubt, and amongst it, many other items of no importance—but there was one other thing. A very solid-looking lever was mounted on the wall, beside the desk.

Wheatley was interested. He spun his optic, staring at the lever, and made to move forwards on the management rail.

But he had forgotten that Carrie retained all control over his motion. He sent the command through the rail, but the motor did not oblige. She held it steady.

"_Hey_," he called, trying to tilt himself upwards to glare at her. "Lemme move forwards, mate. I want to have a look."

"I would prefer if you first gave me one moment to survey the perimeter," she told him coolly. "I am picking up some… strange interference again."

Perhaps, if Wheatley had stopped to consider what she had said, he would have dropped the subject, but he did not care. He wanted to see what that lever did! And in any case, there was no sign of the lady, not yet. He rolled his optic in annoyance. "Oh, common. Haven't I already told you? It's probably just my human you're picking up, hiding somewhere, about to give us a clever surprise when we're _least _expecting it. I wouldn't be surprised. Well, I _would, _but… well, you get it. Say, would you move forward? I don't know if you've seen, but there's a button there I think we should try pressing."

He nodded for emphasis, now fully convinced that it would probably help him find the lady—or alert her to their location, at any rate.

"I would prefer…" Carrie started, but Wheatley cut her off.

"Yeah, heard you the first time, mate," he growled. "…Button? How 'bout it, then?"

She paused, humming in annoyance. "That is not a button."

"What d'you—_of course it's a bloody button!_"

"That is a lever," she replied angrily. "And I would much prefer if you would lower your voice —"

"OH," cried Wheatley in frustration. _"Really. _Well, lever-shmever, it's the same thing, really. What's the difference? Nothing, I tell you, if you'd just lemme press it—_pull _it, pull it, sorry—and then we can find out what it does, and everyone'll be happy!"

There was silence for a moment, and then—

"Okay," Carrie whispered. "Just as long as you lower your voice. I don't like these signals I am receiving. I have never heard them before, and I do not think they are coming from your human."

She guided him forwards on the rail, oblivious to his smug, self-satisfied expression. _That's right_, he thought, _finally let me do a bit of the work. Haha. _He'd had enough with her, really, and was quite tired of waiting and watching while she went on and on about how she knew practically _everything_ down here.

Perhaps, it _was _her area of expertise, but it annoyed him all the same!

She planted him in front of the button—_lever_—and he raised his lowest handle, prepared to activate it—

"Could you just—I dunno, lower me a little? I'm too high."

She obliged, and the bottom of Wheatley's handle caught the lever, successfully activating it. He blinked as a pair of doors back at the entranceway shot open, blocking off most of the opening they had slipped out of just mere minutes ago.

Then, suddenly, before Wheatley could move or say anything, a wailing, screeching siren rang loud, almost ear-splittingly so. Lights flashed brilliantly, blinding orange, blinking just outside of the control room. Another pair of metal doors banged noisily open, adding to the din, just as a set of gears beside them whirred into action, sliding an extra bit of catwalk forward out over the pit.

Sparks shot everywhere as metal ground on metal, and Wheatley blinked in astonishment. Finally, the catwalk outside screeched to a halt, and the alarm ceased. The final sound was a pair of distant grills shuddering open at the end of a distant elevator shaft.

The silence that fell was ringing, so very loud, as far as quiet went.

"Oh," Carrie groaned as the noise faded. "You have reconnected the testing track with the test subject waiting room. _Congratulations_." She didn't sound happy, but Wheatley nodded at the word in satisfaction, "and by doing so, have probably alerted any unauthorized constructs that may be down here to our location," she finished.

"Oh, what? Unauthorized…?"

"Yes," she growled. "Which was what I was trying to tell you, if only you had listened to me—"

"I—"

But then, something cut through the blaring silence besides his own panicked voice. It was a curious clatter, so quiet that at first he was not sure if he had actually heard it, but its familiarity made him freeze on his rail—he knew that sound, from before—and it repeated once more before fading out.

"What was that?" asked Carrie. "Did you hear that sound?"

He synthesized a swallow, his optic darting back to the exit before ducking inside of his casing in fear. That sound, he was willing to bet his own survival that he knew exactly what it had come from, and they were trapped. The way out had been blocked by the door, and if his suspicions were correct…

"Bugger," he whispered, trying to ignore how even more of those noises were coming from down the hall, growing louder and louder each second. Springs, or pistons, definitely something metallic and _alive_. "Oh, nooo…" he groaned. "No, no, no, not _here_, not _here…_"

"It is as I thought," said Carrie, and Wheatley felt her connection to the rail change, as though she was strengthening her grip on it. "It is not your human. Very well—hold on tight, personality construct!"

And then, before Wheatley could reply, she zoomed back out of the office space and down the rail, fleeing from the quickly-approaching sounds of metal, scrabbling feet. He tried not to shout out, terrified of alerting the robots, or letting them know that he had heard them, and were on the move. They needed to hide, get _out _of here, but surely the only exit was that which they had just come from—!

Ahead, there was a sharp bend in the rail, a joint where one path led to the upper levels, hanging low over a stair, and one led to the lower basement. Carrie whizzed along, choosing the higher rail without a second glance. She murmured a few words to Wheatley, telling him to remain silent, and did not stop until she found a small nook for them to hide in with the two robots out of earshot.

"That," Wheatley panted, his 'breathing' erratic, though it had no need to be. "Was _close_. Well-well done, mate."

"We have not lost them," Carrie told him, sounding little better. "Only confused them, if we are lucky. What are these constructs doing here? What is their purpose, do you know?"

"Yes," Wheatley breathed, fighting to keep his voice steady through his panic. _They'd _found him, down here, where he'd thought he was safe out of _her _reach! And they had probably gotten to the lady, too, which was why she was not _here… _he wanted to scream, his voice was going to break, but he focused through it, settling for trying to inform Carrie about what exactly was going on. "They're—t-_things_," was, pathetically, all he could manage. "S-somethings, built t-to find us, to _kill _us, I think. I-I just hope that they h-haven't found _her_, the l-lady, otherwise—_I'm done for._"

He was shaking, positively trembling, his optic flickering in fright. "Can you find us another way out?" he choked desperately.

"I…" she started, her voice sounding different than her usual monotone, maybe a little afraid. "It might be possible, but it will be dangerous. For-for me."

Wheatley huffed, not really caring in the slightest about how 'dangerous'it might be for _her_—if she didn't do something, they'd both be done for! Not to mention that they weren't even _after_ her! They were after _him! _

But before he had a chance to respond, the sound of slamming, metallic heels could be heard again, and Wheatley let out a sharp whimper of panic. "_Do_ something!" he groaned, twitching as the robots trotted noisily down the passage.

Carrie sped forwards, following the rail as far up into the wing as it could go. A number 'seven' had been painted on the door here, signifying the last floor, and even though the ceiling of this one was very high, possibly providing some protection against the grounded constructs, Wheatley groaned. "I-it's a dead end!" he shouted. "A _dead end. _ , just _perfect!_"

"Shhhh! They will hear you!"

"Oh, really, lady, like they haven't already heard _you!_"

"They can't hear me—_shhhh_—I will tell you later!"

Attracted no doubt by Wheatley's shout, the two robots climbed the staircase, and the seven-marked door was blasted open, knocked clean off of its hinges. Wheatley screamed as the robots crossed the threshold—one short and stocky, a spherical orb at his center, containing one luminous, blue pupil. A plate above his eye slid forward as he frowned and growled, poking his companion in the side with a metal elbow. This one was tall and lean, its oval-shaped body bouncing on two spindly legs, optic narrowed in concentration as she screamed a battle-cry back at her companion. They lunged towards the personality construct, suspended well over their heads by the yellow-eyed rail guide, but missed—Wheatley flailed, terrified, his optic a barely-visible point of light, and Carrie sped towards the other side of the room as fast as her motor could go.

"_RUN!_" he positively screamed "_FOR GOODNESS' SAKE, RUUUUUN!_"

"_Sssssssssssswwwwwwwwwrrrrrrr rrkkkkkkkkk!_" Orange cried in reply, sounding another assault—she jumped high, missing Wheatley's lower handle by inches. The two robots, evidently a lot smarter than they looked, began to circle below him, conversing in some kind of foreign robot-language Wheatley _might _have understood if he didn't feel like shorting out with panic.

"_Get me out of here! AAAAAARGGGHHH!_"

"_I'm trying!_"

Carrie did not need telling twice: she sped along her rail, making back towards the exit, still dodging well-aimed attacks from the two bots. They were fast and could jump very high; but Carrie was faster, her speed was no match for them. They were left behind, still calling out in those horrible voices, and the way back to the lower floors was clear, she could make a break for it—

"_THEY'VE GOT PORTAL GUNS!_" Wheatley yelled in fright. Blue had just fired two portals, one beneath himself, and the other was materializing dead-center of the wall Carrie was speeding towards. His counterpart mirrored him with lightning-speed reflexes, and shot out a second later beside his partner, blocking the exit.

"_NO! STOP!" _cried Wheatley. "_Stop running! Reverse, reverse! Do something!_"

But what, exactly, he had no idea—Carrie screeched to a halt, motor switching into reverse, backing up as fast as was possible, but they'd never get away, not when their enemies had portal guns. Even as she paused, trying to _think_, Orange gestured something sinister to Blue, and a portal appeared directly above them.

Blue's spiny fingertips grazed Wheatley's metal hull as Carrie lurched backwards. He shuddered, an edge of static popping from his voice processor, his optic so narrow with fright it almost hurt—

_Don't let them get me, _he wanted to cry, wishing the lady was here, that he had her protection, her strength—

He needed her, he needed her help, _now, _but she wasn't here, he didn't know _where _she was—

"_They're too fast!_" came Carrie's voice. "_What do we do?_"

"_HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?_" Wheatley roared back, numbly aware that these constructs had been sent by _her_, and if he allowed himself to be caught, he would very certainly suffer a fate worse than death, "_HOW ABOUT, I DUNNO, HACKING! Yes, HACK THE RAIL!_"

"_We can't do that! We can't just go around changing the rail system like we own the place —_"

"_I hate to break it to you, but if we do NOT do it, we are BOTH going to bloody DIE!_"

Panic surged like sheer electricity through him, sparking every circuit and resistor until he felt like he was coming apart. The robots launched another well-aimed attack at him, he felt a bridge of static pop between his hull and its own as it made a gesture as though to hug him in mid-air, to pull him off of the rail and take him as _her _hostage.

Oh, he wanted the lady, where was she, oh god, she wasn't here to save him this time, oh god oh god he was all on his own—

"_FINE!_" Carrie buzzed angrily. "_Fine! Keep quiet, I need to concentrate!_"

He groaned but nodded, trembling and wincing, trying to keep out of the robot's reach. Carrie kept zooming back and forth, monitoring the robots while she worked, trying her best to keep them off of him, but she would not be able to much longer. It was close, so close, and the Orange one was smart, she was no Intelligence Dampening Sphere—mechanical beeps sounded, but Wheatley was too dizzy to know where they were coming from, until finally a space of wall panel slid forward—

"_CAN WE MOVE NOW?_" He called out.

He saw the rail sliding out, but it hadn't connected yet, and at the same second, while he was turned away, the Blue construct cleverly used the distraction to launch himself at the writhing core.

Carrie was not quick enough this time. Distracted by her success, she didn't notice until it was too late, until the robot was hanging bodily from the core's bottom handle—

"_AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGHHHHH!_"

"_Noo!_" With a BANG the rails connected and Carrie lurched forward, dragging Blue with her. He strengthened his grip, and Carrie shot toward the hole in the wall—

"_OH GOD, NO, OHGOD I'M GOING TO BLOODY DIE—"_

The port that connected Wheatley to Carrie was strong. Blue's weight was threatening to pull the core right off of the carriage but she clung to him, and SLAAAM—Blue hit the wall, hard, and, dazed, his grip slipped a bit, but not enough—Wheatley was screaming, and Carrie was yelling at him, trying to tug the core out of the robot's grip, but it was _just. too. strong… _

She reversed, the motor's wheels audible even over the yelling, and tried again—

SLAAAM.

SLAAM.

The robot's grip weakened, finally, but Carrie could feel that Wheatley was only just managing to hang on, he was screaming, his voice edged with static, and with a final SLAAAM Blue fell to land at Orange's feet, and she shot like a cork through the hole in the wall.

"_AAAAAARRGJSGKxnc8DUFJchs—_"

Wheatley's scream of pain turned into full-blown static and faded out. From behind, the sounds of the arguing, frantic constructs could be heard, scrabbling to try to peer through the small tunnel, to reach with their cold metal hands—

Carrie shuddered, and Wheatley remained still.

Was he all right?

It was dark and silent, the only light coming from the chamber they had just left. It was not enough to illuminate what lay at the end of the tunnel, and having hacked this bit of rail open, it was very possibly a dead end. She proceeded slowly, carefully, noting with relief that the unresponsive core's optic was lit. That was a good sign.

He did not flick on his flashlight, however, as he would usually have done.

She continued in the silence, for the sounds of the two constructs had faded, and began to try to piece together what had just happened.

The truth was: she had _no idea._

Who they were, what they were, what they were doing here; she was not stupid, no. She understood they were here for him, and had been allowed inside by him, albeit unknowingly. But what business did they have with this-this—personality construct?

She hummed into the darkness, silent, waiting, hoping that he would be all right.

* * *

A while later, minutes, perhaps hours, Wheatley came back online.

At first, he didn't move. _I'm dead, _he thought in some last, dysfunctional bit of his processor. _I'm dead, or dying, can't tell which. Oh, lovely, I can't even tell, that's how dead I am._

He twitched his handles, but stopped, grunting in sudden pain. It felt as though they were about to fall off.

_Oh, that is—that is not good._

He suddenly felt that he didn't want to know what he looked like. As far as he could tell, his bottom handle had been almost completely severed by that-by that robot, crushed to a pulp and just about torn off—he shivered.

He was numb, aching, drifting along on a thin string of consciousness, barely there at all. The sensory overload had triggered some sort of a failsafe system, like a circuit breaker, causing him to short out and shut down into power-save mode. He figured. He wasn't sure at all, really.

_Oh, _he moaned silently, trying to roll his optic—everything felt dislocated and wobbly, just terrible. All of him ached, especially his port, _she, _the rail-guide,had probably done something to him, he presumed.

What, he could not remember. Everything was a little fuzzy_._ _Let's just—just back up, for a minute, then. Try to remember what in the name of bloody Science happened._

There was a room, the management rail, which, incidentally he was still on. Yes. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel that he was moving along it. And those robots—those robots! He tried to spin round to check if they were following, but he couldn't move a muscle.

And what else? What else. And… Carrie—_Carrie! _He wondered where she was, and why he could no longer hear her.

It was as if his brain was on fast-forward to make up for the time he had spent offline. The memories flooded back and his clock rate cycled back down to a steady rhythm, but the pain was still there. A sharp stab of it pierced mercilessly through his bottom handle. _Aaargh, okay, now I remember everything, _he tried to gasp, optic suddenly wide as he willed himself not to move. Every bit of movement only served to worsen the pain, which receded to a dull ache when he didn't.

_Okay, _he thought, _no moving. I'll be all right if I don't move, but everything's still black. I wonder why that is?_

He tried to talk.

"H-hello?" but his voice sounded scrambled to him, irregular.

However it sounded, he did not expect a reply of any kind, much less the high, worried tone of his management rail guide. "OH!" Carrie gasped. "You're online! Are you okay?"

"N-not quite sure about that," he stuttered, "but I'll manage. I think…"

"…I thought you were done for."

He considered this, a little annoyed at the suggestion. Sure, _he_ had thought he was about to die, but the damage hadn't been that serious, had it? "'Course not. Gonna take a little more than that to throw ol' Wheatley offline for good. Just—_ugh_, my bottom handle, feels like it's buggered right up."

"It sustained critical damage. You don't need it for anything important, do you?"

He felt a little offended. Really, he considered _all _parts of him important, but at the moment he hardly had the energy to argue. "I suppose it's not, but it is bloody _aching_. I'll tell ya, the sooner we get out of here, the better. Looks like I'm going to need a few replacement ! And by the way," he said, a little more lively at the thought, "have we met the lady yet? Have we found the human?" he looked around expectantly, grimacing as a few sparks shot out of his side at the motion. "It'd make me feel much better to know she's alive."

Boy, was that ever true. What with those robots around, he felt absolutely terrible for dragging her down here like he had, unarmed…

"No," Carrie answered. "Not yet. I would like to know, though, what _were _those… Constructs?"

Wheatley sagged in disappointment. "No? No sign of her, none at all?"

"No. I am sorry…" she sounded it.

"The robots…" groaned Wheatley, unwilling to recount the story of what they were and why they were after him. "It's a long, long story, but they're after us, and they're going to kill us. Not you, of course, but me, and-and my human."

He could almost hear the whirr of her brain, but decided that he didn't want to know what she thought of that information. "Uh, where exactly are we headed?" he asked, seeking a distraction.

"Oh," said Carrie in surprise. "Well, back in that chamber, I summoned a rail connector to merge us with this old maintenance line," Carrie told him, sounding faintly annoyed that he had changed the subject. "We are, essentially, within the wall of the Test Shaft. No matter, for I think I know a way back outside from here."

"Huh," said Wheatley finally. "Well, uh. That's good."

He meant to let her find the way out in silence, but he couldn't keep silent _and _still. So he sacrificed his reluctance to tell Carrie the story of the two robots. He would prefer that over the pain—oh, it bloody hurt, even _still_—no, he'd prefer to not move, if he could help it.

She was silent while he spoke. "They've been following us a while, but I didn't think they'd be able to follow us down here, too. It means that _she _knows we're down here, and sent them after us. Also, also, my human happens to be very-very _mortal _and if I don't find her, and soon, _they _will probably find her, if they have not already. And-and _if _they have, I deserve to be stuck down here forever, or endure whatever _she _might have in store for me, if that is the case."

He rambled into silence, thinking. What if, what _if _she _wasn't _okay? It was his fault. All his fault. Why was _everything, _no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, always _his fault?_

"I can't do anything right," he mused quietly.

"Sure you can," said Carrie absently. "We have been able to activate almost all of the required interfaces for the system takeover. There is only one component left—and we are almost there. Look!"

He lifted his optic in spite of himself—there was light ahead! They had reached the end of the tunnel!

They came out into an unfamiliar room, and Wheatley's optic contracted against the brightness. It was much similar to the hall they had left with the robots in it, but a little different—this one had no chairs, instead a wall completely dedicated to a series of display cases, all containing an array of tarnished, silver awards.

Immediately, he searched for signs of the two robots, but there were none as far as he could see. "They can't—the robots—follow us in here, can they?" he asked nervously.

"They most certainly cannot."

"Oh."

He let her lead him along, the blue of his eye darting here and there, reflecting against the glass of the display cases. They were very near a wide, sliding door, which made up one of the ends of the hall, and privately Wheatley prayed that nothing could come through that door. Carrie was leading him to the other end, however, where a smaller door stood, looking just as solid and locked as ever.

For a moment he considered what might be beyond that door. Was there more hallways like this? Or service areas? Or maybe even—hadn't Carrie said that they were close to their destination?—there was the mainframe in there, the backup systems which they sought. He found he really did not want to face whatever was in there without the lady's company.

With a jolt he remembered the 'plan' they had formed together, the one where, if need be, she'd raise the fire alarm. No such alarm had gone off… surely she was all right, then? But he was still worried. So worried, worried that the same constructs who had found him had found her, and even now were keeping her from pulling the alarm, from finding him—

He was stupid to let her go while she was unarmed, stupid to let her out of his sight like that—

And he moaned the word aloud. "_Stupid,_" he cried. "Stupid. _How _could I have been so _stupid?_"

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," he responded defensively. "Oh, _nothing. _I was just thinking, y'know, about how my human is supposed to meet us here, when she hasn't a portal device. _Ahem_, I mean those, er, hole-shooty-thingies, same as those two robots back there had. Yeah, and they'll be looking for her, too. She's brilliant, sure, but… well, she's not here, and we can't wait forever, can we?"

She stopped moving, seeming to look down at a portrait that had been placed between two display cabinets. "Well, no," she said finally, "We can't wait forever."

She sounded preoccupied. Wheatley followed where he thought her eye must be looking, staring at the portrait.

Like much of the rest of the Shaft, it was faded and worn. It might have once been a great portrait, taking up almost all of the space between the ceiling and floor, illustrating a middle-aged man, his dark hair combed elegantly and large, masculine hands folded eagerly across his desk.

"'_Cave Johnson,_'" Wheatley read from a brass plaque below the picture. "'CEO of Aperture Science'. Well. That explains a lot, doesn't it? Right looney, by the look of him. _Mad_."

Carrie made a sound of distaste at his words. "That man is the reason you are _alive_."

"Doesn't mean he's not _bonkers_."

"And _you _are a strange machine with some very terrible ideas. Also, the scientists were the ones who activated you, were they not? You should be more thankful, I am surprised they did not deactivate you after you served your purpose."

"Hey!" Wheatley spluttered, upset. "I'm not a mor—_look_, I'm sorry, okay, mate, I'm just a little-a little on edge, all right? Dunno why you're laughing at me, not when those two little robots back there could easily find us again. It's not funny, it's not like we're in the clear yet, is it, so just—just leave me _alone._"

"I am not laughing." It was true. "_I _would not have chosen to deactivate you. I quite like you; and I do not blame you for what has happened, though I wish you would tell me more about what led such constructs to be after you."

"I—wait," said Wheatley, his eye partially closing in thought. "You _like_…me?"

"Yes. You are the first intelligent construct I have seen in nearly over fifty years."

"Blimey, I…"

He turned, trying to avoid a gaze from a machine who could not see him. He suddenly felt warm, flustered; the compliment had been a little embarrassing, yes, and he hadn't ever been told he was likeable, but this was not the true cause of his shyness.

It was because, even though she had mentioned her isolation before, Wheatley now felt strangely _connected _to her. He was not much different from her, not at all. They were both robots, lost and wandering, searching for a friend, for escape, who both happened to have been locked into some very unfortunate circumstances.

Fifty years… that was double what he'd gone through while in charge of the relaxation vault. He couldn't deny he knew how awful it felt to be abandoned, helpless, and watch everyone around you die and decay…

"…I'm sorry," he finally whispered. "That's-that's a long time… I didn't realize, mate. Is there… anything I can do? Anything at all?"

She sighed. "I don't think so," she said sadly. "Unless…"

"Yes?"

"Well—you are planning to escape, are you not?"

"Yes."

"Do you think—do you think I could I come with you? If-if it is still an option, when we have completed the mainframe's activation?"

Wheatley blinked rapidly, turning to the side in thought. Bring her with him? He had not considered it before, but management rail travel was nearly twice as fast as the lady could go. She could run along beneath him without his weight, and he could speed with Carrie, encouraging her, just like their first escape attempt!

"All right," he agreed with a firm nod. "But I'm warning you now, things could get a little _weird _when we hit the upper facility, because I don't rightly know how _she's _going to react to all of this."

"Who is this '_she_'—?"

But before she could finish, she was cut off by a sudden strong, male voice, broadcasted from speakers overhead. They boomed with the sound of the falsely-jaunty tone, and Wheatley's eye went wide.

"Welcome, gentlemen, to Aperture Science. Astronauts, war heroes, Olympians-you're here because we want the best, and you are it. So: Who is ready to make some science?"

Carrie gasped. "That's the greeting simulation—the motion sensors outside must have been tripped—_someone's coming!_"

Through a set of narrow windows, Wheatley caught site of a monstrous shape looming through glass. Impossibly tall, whether because of the silhouette or other, more sinister reasons, it raised one long, slender arm, like a tendril or a tentacle, making to slide the ancient doors open.

"What is that?" he gasped. "What is that what is that—"

Cords swung behind the thing as it walked, huge cords, thick as his entire sphere body, and on top of its head a pair of antennae sprung, swaying creepily as it walked—

Meanwhile, Cave Johnson's voice greeting continued, "Those of you who volunteered to be injected with praying mantis DNA, I've got some good news and some bad news…"

"AAAAAAAAH…" he yelled, thinking _reverse! reverse! _but Carrie did it for him.

"…Bad news is, we're postponing those tests indefinitely," continued Cave Johnson. "Good news is, we've got a much better test for you: Fighting an army of mantis men. Pick up a rifle and follow the yellow line. You'll know when the test starts."

"_Giant praying mantis!_" she called out in fear and he shouted even louder: "LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!"

But even over both of their yells, and over Cave Johnson's pre-recorded voice, yet another unusual sound was heard:

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

It was—_knocking?_ Carrie paused automatically on the rail.

Wheatley simulated one last, final gulp, eye wide as the door slid slowly open, and the revealed construct outside froze in mid-step.


	15. Final Transmission

**Target Acquired **

**Chapter Fifteen - Final Transmission**

* * *

It wasn't a praying mantis.

It wasn't even the two robots who had chased him and nearly ripped off his lower handle.

It was—_her. _Sort of. The lady. Wheatley gaped as well as a core with no mouth could, staring at her slim, athletic form, her hair greased back into her slick pony and the dark circles under her eyes.

She stood there, framed impressively by the wide doors, one hand on her hip, and the other lowering the still-steaming end of a massive, unfamiliar device, crudely strapped to her back.

He hung there in shock, speechless. It wasn't very often, not often at all that Wheatley literally did not know what to do or say, but _she _had been the last thing he had expected! Really, he thought he deserved some kind of award for _not _dropping off the management rail in sheer shock!

Her mouth opened in an 'O' of surprise as he stared, her eyes growing into wide circles. Finally, her thick, chapped lips cracked into a hesitant smile.

"Is this your human?" said a low voice in Wheatley's ear, but all he could do was blink. _Plink, plink, _went the eye shields over his impressively constricted optic, and the lady blinked back at him, finally lowering the end of that strange-looking device.

She raised her free hand, palm toward him, and gestured a smooth motion—she was waving.

"Oh," he finally coaxed out of his vocal processor, his voice very high-pitched in comparison with his regular tones. "Right."

He fought the urge to grumble openly at himself—what a pathetic thing to say in greeting, after spending so long worrying about whether she was alive or not! '_Oh._' Not even an 'I'm glad you're alive, mate!' he tried again. Nope, _nothing _was coming out_._

Nevertheless, her smile grew wider, and she appeared to relax; she let the hand holding the end of the device fall completely limp by her side. The other palm reached up to wipe her gleaming forehead, smearing a new patch of dirt here. She walked jerkily forward, staggering a little under the weight of the machine. Wheatley flinched at her movements.

Her boots made the only sound in the entire hall, a faint _tap _with each step as her heels hit the dusty tiles on the floor.

"It's—it's _you_," he finally managed.

It was supposed to sound cheery, light; but, whether because of the damage the two robots had inflicted upon him (bloody painful, that), or because of pure shock, his voice sounded _off_. It was still that high-pitched, frightened octave, and in an attempt to look more welcoming, he let his optic dilate to its usual state, and his bottom shutter pull up to simulate a smile.

She frowned up at him. He cleared his throat, or, would have, if he had one. "I mean, uhh, hello," he choked awkwardly, "S-so sorry. I didn't expect—I mean, how did y—what_ is_ that thing, if you don't mind me asking? Because, uh, as mu-much as I trust you, lady, if you've gone and picked up some unusual artefact that you've found around here, I won't hesitate to inform you that it could be _bloody _dangerous, if you're not careful."

He tried to ignore the fleeting notion that he had not listened to his own advice—as if to make manifest of this thought, he heard Carrie snigger quietly in his audio receptor.

The lady shrugged.

"Um… Well, that's not to say that you aren't _normally_ careful, because you are, and I reckon you've got a pretty good understanding of everything, even more than I—well, you get it," he squeaked under her glare, wishing he could vanish. After so long of wanting to reunite with the lady, after wishing and worrying and searching until he thought he'd never see her again, he couldn't help but feel that he hadn't _truly_ had anything to worry about the entire time. She was capable of being just as dangerous as anything else he may have found on his journeys down here. "So, uhh," he stuttered in a brave attempt to question her further, "C-could you tell me what that lovely device you've found is for? J-just in case, y'know, it's dangerous, or—GYYAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

There was a moment's break in her harsh stare, in which she smiled sassily before him, and, quick as a flash, raised the illuminated end of the mysterious device and aimed it straight at his core.

"_No, _what're y—!"

But before he could finish, before he could simulate more than a series of gulps or unscramble his processor in his panic, she pulled the trigger, and a stream of greyish white substance shot from its end. The material was strange, oddly luminous, too solid to be liquid, but yet still fluid-like, and it splattered—or _appeared _to splatter—against the wall behind him, taking on a wide, oval shape.

It was a portal, its surface opaque as it was not yet connected to an adjacent opening. It was a swirling mass of grey and white light.

"…O-oh."

They stared at each other for a moment. Him, with his optic still only a pale-blue dot as he twitched with little panic-stricken aftershocks, and her, with her wide, crystal eyes.

"We need to lead your human into the Central AI Chamber," suggested Carrie, but he took no notice—in fact, the only sign he gave that he had heard her was to constrict his optic even further, fearing that the lady had heard his rail-carrier speak.

If the lady had, she gave no notice except to step even closer to him. He trembled, and he felt words tumble out of him on reflex in an attempt to distract himself from that wordless stare. She hardly seemed to blink enough for a normal human—_must be the brain damage, _he figured.

"Well, that's great," he managed to break through that high, frightened octave into a lower, more genuine-sounding one. "You've found yourself a portal device! Glad you thought to bring along, mate, glad you thought of it. Aaand—you're alive! That's something, isn't it? Yes. Definitely don't want to overlook that. So-so you're alive, that's _great, _and you've managed-managed to find a portal device while I've been gone. Br-ahh, that's-that's… brilliant."

She was feet from him, now; while she crept closer, the trails of cords and connective wires plugged into the machine followed her. He made a swallowing sound again, unsure of what to do or say, and settled for tilting his optic in a twitchy, unsteady fashion. "Um… not sure… not sure why you're looking at me like that, mate. Wh—what…?"

He shifted around, circling his eye, but stopped when a flurry of sparks were emitted out of the side of his core. "GYAH!" he called in surprise, and his optic flickered and dimmed—oh, god no, he was _blushing _at her, now.

She raised one slender, trembling hand up towards him, her eyes suddenly wider and clearer than even before.

Torn between fear at the gesture and curiosity, Wheatley shivered. He kept immaculately still as she reached up, putting her soft (unbelievably soft, ohho, wow) palm up against his hull.

"Hmhmm, oh," he said faintly, unsure of what to say, trying to keep himself from moving too much, but it was hard. He could practically feel her breath on his optic. It sent a tingle of electricity through him that had nothing to do with the management rail.

"Okay, umm, as nice as all this is, lady, and-and as glad as I am to have you back, as I have previously said, I don't—_hey! _OUCH!"

And the warm tingles and pleasantness suddenly vanished as her hand lifted from his casing and, without warning, jutted forward to grab at his broken handle. He flailed for a moment, and she let go immediately, cowering as he called out in pain.

"Bloody _HELL!_"

He groaned, wincing and curling his handle into himself, looking like one trying to rub a sore spot. "It's b-badly damaged," he choked, his accent sharp with anger as he raised his voice. "Completely ruined, broken, but you just HAD to touch it, d-did you?"

The lady did not say anything, only bit her lip and stared at the floor.

"Of course you d-did," he half-laughed, half-choked, his voice growing more distraught with each word. Oh, he was angry she'd done that, positive it was on purpose, by the look on her face. _Sure, cozy up to the injured core, just so you could take a swipe at me when I'm not looking! _"Of course. C-couldn't keep your bloody hands to yourself, as usual! Can't mind your own business, can you? No, too busy meddling with everyone else, yeah? Can't leave a thing alone, even when it's broken, and bloody painful—never mind the fact that I've done nothing but sacrifice to get us here, and what have you sacrificed? _Nothing!_ Bloody noth—"

He froze, his eye constricting painfully.

As if in slow motion, he saw her shoulders rise and fall as her eyes flashed daggers—and a ghost of that look, the one permanently burned into his memory banks_, _that broken, betrayed expression that he'd seen from an elevator as he punched it into a pit, burned like fire over her face.

"…I didn't," he gasped, "Ididn'tmeanthat."

Silence. The kind that made him feel as though he'd just been chucked into a deadly moat of acid. He could actually _feel _it eating away at his circuits.

"Personality construct," he heard Carrie say, taking advantage of the silence, "we need to proceed to the Central AI Chamber, and the Quantum Tunneling Device isn't to be removed from testing!"

Nobody gave any sign that they had heard her, except finally, the lady tapped the heel of her boot against the floor. _Explain._

"I-I…" he stuttered, shuddering against the fresh wave of guilt and regret sizzling through him. Oh, god, wasn't it bad enough that he had to go and say all of _that _once? And now he had to go and tell her, again, that he thought she was slowing him down—well, he hadn't said exactly _that_—that she was useless—no wait, not _that, _either! No, no, he only meant that while she was out parading around with a portal device, he was having the bloody stuffing almost ripped out of him!

Which was a lot more of a sacrifice than _anything _she might have been through!

"Okay, listen," he blinked, relaxing a little as he gathered himself. "I'm not mad. It's all right, I am fine. I'm sure that you have sacrificed your fair share, too, I only meant that I'm the one who was just about gutted, all right? I didn't mean to hurt you, although-although my injury does bring up a bit of a problem, should have mentioned it before, really, but I didn't. You probably already know, don't you, being a cl-clever woman, such as you are."

He thought he saw the barest flicker of amusement in her eyes, but if he had, it vanished faster than blinking. Maybe it was only a reflection of his optic.

"You don't know, do you?" he said flatly, watching her closely. She tilted her head slowly to one side.

"Oh, well…" Wheatley whispered, never taking his optic off her. "Um, there… there are—don't worry, though, it's all fine, all under control—two little robots down here, trying very, very hard to find us and bring us back to _her, _who will probably kill us. St-stay calm, stay calm, it's all fine, I'm going to get us out of here, with the help of—um, my management rail guide, Carrie."

The lady's mouth opened a fraction of an inch. She did not move otherwise.

"Okay, all right," he chuckled nervously, afraid that she wasn't grasping a word of what he was saying. "You don't understand. All right—fair enough. You do have brain damage. Point to you. Lemme just explain it for you, then: _if we don't get out of here soon, she is going to find us and bring us back to her lair and kill us. _And it won't be painless, either, if I had to guess, I'd say it'll be the opposite_, _and then any chance for escape we may have had will be gone."

He stopped talking. Finally—ever so slowly—she nodded.

"Great!" he celebrated, more cheerfully than he felt. "You understand. All right, then—on we go!"

He waited patiently for Carrie to lead him forward on the management rail. She did not move.

"We cannot take the Quantum Tunneling Device with us."

"Quantum Tunneling…?" he repeated absently. "Do you mean the portal gun?"

"Yes."

"Leave it behind? Are you mad?" he turned to the lady, optic shaking in disagreement. "Don't listen to her, mate. Probably best you take it along, especially with those robots down here, looking for us… Better get a move on, too, get a head start while we can." Sure, Carrie had told him they'd be safe-r in here, but he didn't trust it. "Did you hear me, lady? I said let's go!"

She was watching him carefully, giving him no reprieve of her stare, a certain expression_. _It was one he had occasionally caught before, though usually she had turned away as soon as she saw he had noticed. It was, quite simply, an amused, superior expression, laughing at, and not with, the kind that made him feel like _he _was the one with the brain damage.

"Yes, okay, I get it," he said, lowering his top handle to simulate a frown, "You're all for listening to _her, _but if I could be honest, I've no idea why you're about to stop listening to me now. We're going to _need _the portal device—"

"Personality construct, the Quantum Tunneling Device will only slow your human down for the remainder of the operation, and it is not permitted within the Central AI Chamber."

The lady's boot shifted, creating a quiet _scrape. _Maddening, really, the way she wasn't listening to him!

Wheatley stared, hovering on the edge of saying something a little less savoury. Finally, something began to click— "You…" he started in quiet shock, "You can't hear her, can you? You can't hear who I'm talking to?"

"She cannot," Carrie quietly confirmed, and now that he was paying attention, he observed something he had never noticed before—her voice was somehow different than his own. He had always just assumed it was because she was so physically _close _to him, but now he knew—her speech was being transmitted to him via the port on his backside. _The lady could not hear her speak._

"She can't hear me," said Carrie again. "You will have to ask her to remove the Quantum Tunneling Device before we can proceed to the Chamber."

Now he knew why the lady was looking at him like that—she thought he was crazy!

He stared down at her, his core only twitching to emit a few sparks. She fidgeted, kicking the heel of her boot against the ground and shrugging.

"Okay, you know what," he said, simulating a sharp intake of breath, trying to ignore the sinking feeling within his core—_yes, _he probably would never admit it aloud, but he did care what the lady thought of him! He-he was her _guide, _after all, and—oh, he only cared because of that, there was no other reason, except maybe—"it's a long story, mate, but you're just gonna have to trust me. Never li—never led you wrong before, have I?" he blinked rapidly as he realized the truth of what he had just said, "I mean, _recently. _Have I _recently_ led you wrong? No, didn't think so. So-so you're just gonna have to trust me, when I say that we can't take the portal device with us."

She gave him a look that said quite plainly: '_you really are crazy. Who's the one with the brain damage now?_'

"No, nononono! _I do not have brain damage! _You misunderstand. Look—we really don't have the time to sit around and talk about this, all right? Take off the portal device. Just go ahead, and take it off, we haven't the time to mess about willy-nilly while there's two robots trying to find us and kill us."

Feeling a little nervous, he watched her as slowly, ever so slowly, she reached up to undo the straps wound tight around her middle.

"_Thank _you," he breathed. "Sorry, mate, but I can't control the management rail while we're down here, and _she_—or rather, the rail guide—isn't going to let us leave this room unless it's without the portal—_Quantum_-thing—device."

The lady slipped the gun from her back, staggering a little under its weight as she tried to keep it from falling to the floor. Panting, she dragged it over to a corner, and rested it carefully against the wall for safekeeping. Hopefully it would stay there, until they were on their way back.

She returned to him, her forehead gleaming with new drops of sweat (she needed a good cleaning, he observed—her jumpsuit was even _more_ filthy than it had been when he'd left her!) and waited for him to lead the way.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he chattered as Carrie headed toward the door, the lady following close behind. He spun in his casing to watch her as she walked beneath him. She didn't look impressed, but, then again, when did she ever? Could have done with a few lessons of how to _smile, _for one.

He tried a few tactics to cheer her up. "Almost there," he told her, "and then it'll be on to getting out of this bloody Shaft, and up to the surface. My rail-mate's going to come with us, too. So, I'll ride the rail up, and we'll help you figure something out with that little—er, not so little, is it—device of yours."

She nodded vaguely, looking like she wasn't too interested in him trying to hold a conversation with her just now. Instead, he turned back to Carrie.

"Why is that, again?" he asked in a whisper. "Why can't we take the device with us?"

"It is possible that interference caused by close proximity to the Quantum Tunneling Device may cause a hiccup in the system parameters."

"…Oh, uh… all right."

He didn't really have any idea of what that meant, but he didn't want to press the subject. As long as she knew what she was doing—and, judging by those fancy words, she probably had more of an idea than he did, anyways.

He felt Carrie pause as they reached the door, and the woman below darted forward to push it open, but it remained firmly shut.

"It's locked," he narrated, and the lady looked up at him hopefully—she was expecting_ him_ to unlock the door.

"Tell your human to stand back."

"Er—right, luv, you're gonna have to stand back. Yes, just like that. Let ol' Wheatley hack the door open for you!"

But then he heard something—or felt, was hearing really the right word anymore?—through the connection Carrie shared with his back port. It was a chuckle of _amusement._

His frame twitched and he glanced away from the lady, grumbling, trying to ignore the way she was looking at him, _watching him hacking without a hair of remorse_—oooh, okay, okay, so it wasn't _him _hacking, but it could have been!—A lopsided sort of smile was playing about her lips.

She was _laughing at him. Both _of them were! He wasn't even _doing _the hacking this time, and they were laughing!

"_Yes?_" he asked in irritation, not directly addressing anyone in particular. "Can't _hack _while you're having a laugh, can I?" he spun his eye for emphasis.

"You have called your human 'luv'," he heard Carrie's audio signal. "Why do you refer to her so?"

"I did _not_," he whispered, trying to hide the sound of his voice behind the computerized _beeps _sounding as Carrie tried to open the door. His optic narrowed in warning.

"Yes, you did_. _Perhaps you are not aware that the pet-name 'luv' is one way that humans show intimate affection to one another. So unless you are implying—"

"GAACK-WHAT!" he called out in a strangled voice. "Wh—_no! _I'm not implying anything! I'm just… I'm _British, _for god's sake! I—_It's what British people say_!" Wheatley spluttered, mortified.

"Actually, you are an Aperture Science personality construct whose vocal algorithms have been modified to simulate British speech patterns."

"I—_but that's the same bloody thing!_"

"Sure," said Carrie, hardly able to conceal her amusement. "Unless, of course, you _were_ implying that she is your _girlfriend. _Human partnership practices do not normally involve artificial constructs, but perhaps you —"

"_No!_" Wheatley groaned, his optic burning, face plate shooting a series of sparks at the suggestion. "She is _not _my _girlfriend!_"

Silence.

He twitched again, the spasm of his faceplate causing him to look down at the lady. His optic flushed even deeper.

That look she had while watching him was now gone from her face. Instead, she flushed, too, and swiftly glanced away as he made eye contact with her.

Horrified, he burst into a series of apologies before he could think twice about what he'd even said, completely forgetting that the lady couldn't have heard what Carrie had suggested to him. "I wasn't implying anything! Honest! I-I—I'm trying to hack—I mean, I'm—_I'm not thinking of you while I'm hacking, _I'm not even _doing _the hacking,for god's sake! I know I said before that I wanted-wanted to be _escape _partners, but I didn't mean—I don't want—I'm not even _human_,I can't—!"

But whatever he was saying, it only seemed to be getting him in worse trouble—the lady's eyes met his, but they burned, and for a second he thought she might hit him.

"W-wait!" he called desperately. "Wait. What I meant to say, what I mean to say is, that yes, you are _not _my girlfriend, dunno-dunno why _anyone _woulda thought it, really, considering that _you're _a human and I'm—although, um, although, I simply meant that it would be _impractical_, n-not _impossible_ for-for us to-to take this, uh, _relationship _to the next—while escaping—I… I mean… I alreadyhaveagirlfriend, actually."

The look changed to a relatively surprised, but very annoyed, expression.

"Yes," he said with new confidence, though it was certainly a lie, "I _have _a girlfriend." He nodded for emphasis. "Two, actually, very fine—er, …robots. Up in manufacturing. Funny, should have mentioned it before, but I didn't. So, perhaps we should forget that we ever had this conversation, yeah? Wouldn't-wouldn't want them to hear that I've been saying things about girlfriends, not directly pertaining to _them._ Yes. Not that I don't like you, mate, because I do. I really do. Yep, you're a perfectly-perfectly admirable sort of lady, a bit too good for an ol' bloke like me, if I'm honest."

The lady looked as though she'd have liked to say something, but didn't.

He hovered on the edge of lying some more himself, but at that moment, the door slid open with a tremendous _bang, _and a voice in his ear said: "Locking mechanism has been disengaged. And _well done_, personality construct."

"Oh, look at that, eh?" he said, trying to draw the lady's attention away from himself, his optic still burning. "Door's open. Hack—_hacking while talking_, imagine that—is done. Well then, let's go in!"

He was cheerful, his voice light and friendly, but as he swung around and saw what lay ahead, he felt his optic constrict to a narrow point.

It wasn't just _dark _in there. It was _black. _

He shivered, for even he could sense the deathly cold draft wafting from the opened door.

"No lights," he mumbled, more to himself than anything. "It's all fine. Not afraid of the dark. A little bit of dark isn't going to hurt us, is it?" He simulated a false laugh, his accent unusually thick with anxiety.

"So then," said Carrie casually, leading him straight into the darkness like it was as easy as counting to three, "you are not bound to your human in any other ways than the shared goal of escape. I did not know it was common for British… '_people'_… to use the term 'luv'."

"Sod _off,_" he moaned, trying to focus on seeing into the dark. He flicked on his flashlight and abruptly pointed it down, illuminating the catwalk for the lady. "You've already messed me up once, isn't that enough?"

"I was merely curious."

The woman flitted like a shadow beneath him, her boots making a soft _tap _against the metal grate. They had entered what appeared to be another narrow stairwell, though this one held none of the cheer or comfort than the one ages ago had. It was dark, so dark, with black walls and no top or bottom in sight.

This was a service stairwell, that much he could tell, not typically used by employees. Maybe a fire-escape, in which case it probably led all the way to the top of the Shaft. He let his optic flicker up with curiosity, trying to see if he could make out the upper levels of the place.

There was nothing. His flashlight was swallowed by the darkness.

"Guhhh," he said thickly, supressing a shiver. "Dark down here, isn't it… How far down d'you reckon we've got to go?" he asked Carrie.

"Approximately seven stories," she answered plainly.

"Oh… okay," he squeaked. Wheatley had no real idea of how high a typical building 'story' might be down here, having been so used to the newer facility, but he didn't feel much like asking. He'd find out soon enough, anyways.

He concentrated on lighting the lady's path, trying to ignore the long shadows that lengthened along the walls as she moved within the beam. It was creepy, that was for sure; every now and then he thought he saw something stir out of the corner of his eye, but closer inspection showed him that it was just a trick of his light.

The place was filled with the unnerving sounds of distant, creaking gears and joints, their echoes weaving together to form a hair-raising rhythm. It was unlike any place Wheatley had ever journeyed through, though the lady might have been a bit more used to navigating abandoned, creepy places than he was. None of the maintenance areas had ever felt so… so _empty, _so _dead. _He could _feel _that the mainframe had been shut down for a long, long time—to him, it felt like how a ghostly graveyard at night might have felt for a human.

He started to ramble at the lady as she walked. At first, the words had been a quiet whisper, but soon he found that they gave him confidence, so he increased his volume until she could hear, too. "Yes, very dark. Haunted, maybe even, wouldn't doubt it. Probably-probably full of the ghosts of the humans who used to work down here."

They had descended two levels, three; he lost count.

"You know, they say the old mainframe in these test shafts went _absolutely _crazy one day." His optic flicked down onto the woman, searching for any kind of reaction from her. "Flooded the entire place with neurotoxin, before _her _time… Yep, absolutely full. Not a good day for any scientists who may have been on duty—"

"Actually, personality construct," said a voice in his ear, and he had to stop himself from grumbling angrily aloud. _Did I ask for your input? _he felt like saying. She was always giving it, no matter what. Ugh. "The date in question was the mainframe's first connection with the upper facility, the fifth day of the month of August, 1985, and no humans were present in Test Shaft Ten during the time. All records show that the humans remained unharmed and were celebrating—"

He continued anyway. "—though records show that no humans were actually killed on that day. So, obviously not paranormal in any meaningful way, but who's to say, really, that their spirits haven't returned to haunt—"

"—celebrating their success as parents, particularly over female children. I never understood, why did they only choose to celebrate female children, and not male? Most of the scientists were male."

"—this part of the facility." He saw the woman below stop to listen to him, and hastily cleared his throat. "Although, if that story _is _true, and the mainframe we're about to activate _did _flood the entire place with neurotoxin, I'm positive that we've got absolutely nothing to worry about. Because—because the neurotoxin's not hooked up to it anymore. Yeah. Not to mention, I'm sure _she's _watching over the neurotoxin generator, and there's no way she'll let anybody else touch it without killing them, first."

_Plink, plink _went his eye shutters as he blinked down at her innocently, the light of his flashlight cutting out each time. He tilted, waiting for her to continue down the staircase.

"The Prototype is not currently capable of controlling the maintenance and service areas of the Upper Enrichment Center, personality construct," said Carrie slowly. "Any connection with it was shut off when the humans condemned this Test Shaft in 1986, but do you remember the warning I gave you, a while ago, when I said that it would not be advisable for you to activate the lower systems with your human still inside of the facility?"

Yes, he remembered it, and, for the first time since he had found out that the lady could not hear his rail-guide's voice, he was thankful he was the only one who could.

'_I will help you and your human, personality construct, but it is not advisable for the Prototype to be activated in the presence of a human. I do not doubt that you have good reason to have located this Test Shaft against state and federal regulations, but bear in mind that once the Central AI is reactivated, it is best your human does not remain inside of the Enrichment Center, Upper or Lower.'_

He gave a synthetic swallow. "Yes... Well, neurotoxin or not, no matter, because as soon as we activate it, we're getting out of here, mate," he said, nodding at the lady, hoping that would suffice to quench any misgivings she—or _he_—might have had.

Slowly, the lady turned back to the shadows, and started back down the stair.

He watched her, his flashlight lighting the top of her head so that her hair gleamed. In contrast to their first attempt to take an AI offline, she moved slowly, carefully, with a modulated sort of determination. He couldn't blame her, not when he felt barely able to contain his own panic down here—he was out of his element—for as much as he rambled to her about how confident he was, it was as much for his own benefit as hers.

Wheatley was beginning to feel really convinced that something was going to go very, very wrong.

The lady reached the lowest level of the stairway. He heard the metallic _tap _of her boots die away to a more solid, concrete _scrape_. It was as dark as ever here, but he followed the rail forward, seeing that she had stopped in front of a door.

Two signs had been pasted to it, their surfaces peeling, and, curiously, burned in some places.

The first read:

_**DANGER**_

_Admittance to authorized personnel only._

And the second:

_**CAUTION**_

_This equipment starts and stops automatically._

"Well, that's reassuring," he mumbled into the darkness, his flashlight flicking from the signs back to the woman. "'Equipment stops and starts automatically'. Good to know. Well then—let's see what's inside."

He could almost feel her holding her breath as she ran her hands over the door's dirty surface, searching for the handle. She found it, but right before she slid the lock open, she glanced back at him, her eyes deep and intense in the dark.

_This was it._

This was what they had come all the way down here for, what they had risked so much for in hopes that it could somehow help them escape from this horrid place.

She lifted the lock and slid the door open. "Careful, now," he warned her, drawing in his nonexistent breath.

The door's hinges were rusted and worn, just as dirty as its surface, and yet it made no noise as she pushed it. Through the crack, Wheatley could see even less than in the current room they were in—it was even _darker _in there—he darted his flashlight to and fro, trying to see inside.

"…I can't see anything."

The door swung wide, and the lady stepped inside.

_She completely disappeared._

"Hurry up," he called to Carrie, coaxing her to move him along the rail. "Hurry up! She's going inside—"

He stopped speaking as the vibration of the management rail's wheels whirred through his core. She led him silently forward, through yet another tunnel in the wall—the rail was too high up to pass through the door this time—and for a moment, all he could see was unbreakable darkness, even _with _the flashlight.

He could hear movement, though. The rustle of jumpsuited legs, the grating sound of metal on concrete, maybe even an intake of breath. He could not see her, but he could hear her, and then, a moment later, he heard something much more worrisome.

A newsound echoed alarmingly through the tunnel, a great, echoing slamming noise,shocking him so badly he thought he'd just about short circuited. "WRRRAGH—what was…?" He ducked into his core in terror, shaking, as even more sounds came. He gasped in terror: _what _was the lady doing?

_SLAM!_

Was she—

_SLAM!_

"AARGH! Lady? LADY! Are you all right?"

_SLAM!_

"Answer me! Lady? HELLO?"

But of course, no answer came.

A moment later, he came to the other side of the tunnel, and was even more surprised to find himself hit in the face with a sudden, blinding light.

"AUUG!" he yelled as his optic constricted painfully. "Who turned on—auuugh, mate, next time, tell me before you turn all the bloody lights on, will you?"

Well, at least that explained the slamming noises. They were the sounds of the lights powering up and flashing on.

He could see the woman clearly now, standing directly below him, one of her thumbs lining the inside of the jumpsuit top she had tied about her waist. The other was positioned on top of an activated, giant lever, probably the main breaker for the lights—and speaking of breakers, the walls around her seemed to be made up of nothing _but _them.

"Whoooa-hoa, would you look at this!" he called out, recovering from the shockingly loud sounds of the lights.

Row upon row of breaker was here, most switched offline, but a few had been left on, their tops dusty with age. They reached all the way up to the ceiling, high overhead, at least three stories tall—some fluorescent lights hung there, a few of their bulbs dim and broken.

Wheatley squinted from switch to switch, his optic finally coming to rest on the only bare wall in the entire rectangular chamber. Two twin strips of yellow-and-black caution stickers had been stuck there horizontally, broken only by a split in the very center—the 'wall' was made up of a pair of _doors._

"Man alive!" he called out as the lady copied him in glancing wide-eyed around the chamber. "Must be a sort of breaker room. All right, we're looking for, we're looking for—what exactly are we looking for, again?"

"The ANcIMaLOS switch," he heard Carrie say.

"Right. The_, _umm, Ann—ssimalossss, er, _thing. _Do you see it anywhere?"

Feeling a little anxious now that they were here, Wheatley skimmed the chamber for any sort of main switch. Below him, the lady did the same.

"Hey…" he said quietly as he moved closer to the wall, trying to read the bottom markers on the switches. "There are labels here. '_turret production master control_'…" Wheatley read under a blue-colored switch. "'_Conduction Gel synthesizer_'… And this one is red. Red and blue. I wonder why—"

"The blue and red colors correspond to both the upper and lower Enrichment Centers respectively," said Carrie.

"Oh… But, hey! Hey, lady! Come take a look at this! I think this is the right one—'_Artificial Nano_…' Lady? _lady_!"

He spun violently in his casing, sparking and twitching at the sound of a button being pressed. "OUCH—hey, what did you _do?!_"

She released her hand from a button near the doors, and a mechanical buzzer sounded from somewhere beyond them, along with the sound of hydraulics.

"HEY, what did I say about button-pressing down here? You shouldn't—who _knows _what you've done—!"

NNNT, NNNT, NNNT—

Wheatley watched, horrified, as the doors slid open to reveal a wide, dark room. A second later, they had slipped all the way back, and yellow maintenance area lights flickered on, brightening the cavernous chamber.

And a huge chamber it was—the concrete floor only ran part ways into the room, ending in a rusted railing overlooking a gigantic acid pit. Presumably the pit was there to keep trespassers out, but the management rail ran almost the entire way over it, connecting with a wall lost in shadow in the opposite end of the room.

And there was—_something—_there. He stared, noting, thankfully, that whatever it was, it was offline for the moment. He shivered, suddenly feeling a chill creeping like mist through his hull as he looked at this _thing._ It was almost worse than the fog outside in the Test Shaft had been—at least _that_ had only felt like a sickening nervousness, this was paralyzing, making him want to reverse down the management rail as fast as he could go.

But, even if he had tried, Carrie would not have let him. "Welcome, personality construct," she said finally, her yellow optic gazing with an unexplainable fondness into the gloom, "to the _Artificial Nano-compilation Intelligence Mechanism and Lifeform OS_."

He stared at it. Most of it was shrouded in the weird fog that was filling in here as well as out in the Shaft, but through it he could make out_ its_ shape—it was monstrous, nearly as big as _her _body wasas it glinted white, with a singular, dark optic at its center. A black snarl of wires was snaking its way up from its back into the higher reaches of the ceiling, connecting with circular bands of iron and steel. Above that, he could see nothing but the mist.

He didn't know which was worse, now that he was really _here, _seeing it— was the omnipotent boss above the one they should be running from, or… this… this _thing?_

The lady moved forward to the oxidized railing, a stale wind flying through her hair as she looked upon the same sight.

"It's…" he said slowly and quietly, not daring to speak any louder, not in here, not while he felt like _it _was listening. "It's a master turret. I was right, I _knew _those stories I'd heard around the facility were true! Haha," he laughed without a trace of amusement, "this is it! We're getting out of here, mate!"

"It is not merely a _turret,_" he heard Carrie say angrily. In fact, she was a good deal angrier than he'd ever heard her, if her previous annoyance with him even _counted _as anger. "That is Cave Johnson's creation, capable of many, many things _you _are not. They say it is programmed to be just like him, but I do not know, I was not present when it was first activated. I heard, a long, long time ago, from some of the scientists, that they were to upload his brain—a _human's _brain, Cave Johnson—into this machine, but he became ill long before its completion. It never happened."

He wondered for a minute why anyone in their right mind would want to upload themselves into a _turret_ versus a perfectly able personality core body like his own, but then he remembered that personality cores probably hadn't existed back in—back in 1980-whatever, and that his first interpretation of Cave Johnson had actually been that he was probably a mad old looney anyway.

"Mad," he whispered, and gave a yelp as he realized that the lady was no longer below him—she had retreated back into the room while he was transfixed by the mainframe, and was heading directly back toward that switch he had seen earlier! Her fingers were stretching out to touch it, and, and—

"OHGOD NO, WHATAREYOUDOING!"

But already the lady's palm had slammed the switch down, his yell having no effect on her except to cause her to grin a little, and he spun on his rail in frustration—_no lady what are you doing are you mental actually no don't answer that—!_

"Oh, god oh god, oh god," he groaned aloud as that alarm he had heard earlier came again, louder than ever before, buzzing and beeping until his entire casing was ringing like a bell. He fought to untangle Carrie's voice from the bloody mess, wincing as she called to him: "That's it! She's activated the power switch! Conduction Gel and the rest of the system—including the management rails—will be connected to the upper Center!"

He might have groaned in sarcasm, _congratulations, _if he hadn't been so distracted by what happened next. A Gel pipe was moving slowly into the chamber, shaking the walls, floor and ceiling as it went, scraping against the metal and stone, adding to the already deafness-inducing din. Repeatedly, the alarm blared, 'NNNT! NNNT!', and Wheatley watched with a fascinated sort of horror as the Gel pipe connected to something out of sight, hidden behind the mainframe, _turret-thing, _whatever,and then there was a deafening _crash _and a deep, vibrating _thrum_. The ground shook again, and a _hiss _of steam clouded his vision but he could sense the lady, who was now below him, and he fought against his mental reservations that _no, _he was _not _to panic, don'tpanicdon'tpanic, can't go back now, otherwise he would have already screamed at her to go back and turn off the power because—because—!

"**GEL PRESSURE ACTIVATED. GEL PRESSURE AT 15%.**" some female, modulated voice came suddenly, and he might have been able to place where it was coming from if he wasn't so worried,but right now, all that mattered was that the lady was below him and they weren't in any _real _danger—yet.

When the haze cleared, Wheatley saw that the Gel pipe had partially busted and was spewing red Conduction Gel all over the place, great, messy globs of it, _repulsive, really,_ and it slid down the walls and covered the acid moat, forming a glittering—_glittering? What in the name of Science, he still didn't understand—_mass over the stinking pit.

"For God's sake!" he was yelling at the sight, his core spinning as he tilted to face the flabbergasted woman below. No, no sign of regret, no mental reservations on _her _face, when there should be, he thought, 'cause it was about time she stopped bloody _never listening, _and his thoughts were already becoming so scrambled he could hardly _think straight—_"What did I SAY about touching things down here? D'you wanna remind me, mate? Want to jog ol' Wheatley's memory? No? Well that's just fine, _fine-and-dandy_, really, because I swear I remember telling you _never to touch a thing down here unless directed otherwise!_"

It was a little harsh, but he couldn't be bothered to care, just now. Her eyes flashed dangerously, but he ignored it. "And—_and_—now, guess what? Guess what? You went ahead and pulled that switch anyways, and, well, if my-my tremendous—tremendous cognitive abilities (not a moron, not a _moron_) are right, which, of course, they are, then you… um… actually _did_ pull the right lever, so-so let's-just-hope-this-works, then."

"**GEL PRESSURE AT 85%.**"

Wheatley shut his optic at the voice, trying to ignore the sound of whirring gears and what-other nonsense—couldn't see the source from here—god, this place sounded like it was about to _explode!_

"IT'S WORKING!" he called to the lady over the racket, and she turned to face him, sweat lining her brow. "It's working, it's working, I knew it would!" he laughed passionately. "I knew we were doing the right thing! Just-just as long as something hasn't gone wrong, then, because by the sounds of it, the entire thing's about to explode! Although, umm, not to sound pessimistic, not at all, mate, but that would be absolutely catastrophic, and we'd probably all die…"

She shook her fist up at him, but something was happening now—more lights lining the chamber flashed on, _BANG, BANG, _and he narrowed his optic. The lady jumped in shock, but he could see properly now, and at the end of the chamber—

"**GEL PRESSURE IS AT 100%. CONNECTION TO UEC REINSTATED. COMMENCING FULL-SYSTEM POWERUP…**"

"Are you ready?" asked Carrie, her voice trembling with anticipation. "This is it!"

"_Here we go!_" he called out in excitement, wobbling a little, so nervous and anxious and unable to keep still he almost couldn't stand it! "Oh, but wait, I've just thought of something, just thought it—but, what if this thing doesn't work, and, and, what if it doesn't and—_ohgod_—and we'll be stuck down here, then, won't we! Bloody—didn't think of that, didn't think of that!"

"Don't be silly!" Carrie called over the thunderous sound of the machine, its pitch intensifying with what felt like every second, "Of course it's going to work, personality construct!"

But just as she said it, the entire room swayed and he shut his optic so fast he swore he'd cracked the shutters, he rocked on the management rail and even through the tiniest indent that was always left because his hull was so dented and broken he saw it, saw a flash of something gold, and heard a horrible, terrible sound of grinding, collapsing—

And the lady was gone, he wedged his optic open, crying out for her. "Lady, LADY, what are you doing?"

"**CRITICAL POWER FAILURE. POWERUP CANNOT BE INITIATED.**"

"OoohbloodyHELL!" he shouted, "I _knew _this wasn't going to work, I bloody well knew this'd happen! See, I said it, it wasn't going to work, and now we're stuck in here, because I'm very certain that those two robots are waiting for us outside, waiting to kill us, or bring us back to _her…_"

Ohno oh no and right when he'd said that he'd remembered that they _were _probably up there, waiting for them, or worse, the vibrations had alerted them to his position and—

—and the bloody lady was gone, and bloody Carrie wouldn't let him move forward on the management rail to find her. He whipped around, still calling out 'LADY!' as a shower of rubble fell from the ceiling. He coughed, shaking himself, trying to rid the dust from his circuits. "What is she _DOING?_ Where IS she?"

But as the dust settled, he could see a dark patch of movement at the opposite end of the chamber, creeping around the feet of that enormous, terrifying turret (he hardly dared to look at the thing's creepy black eye). The woman was walking there, walking on the luminescent Gel, and a moment later she disappeared behind the thick snarl of deadly machinery.

"She is going to find out what caused the power failure!" Carrie explained, her voice unnaturally high. "I wish that we could help her!"

"Can't we?" he asked urgently, for the management rail did run a ways into the chamber, "Yes, we can! We can use the rail!"

"_No,_ personality construct," she replied solemnly, holding Wheatley back as he struggled to race up the rail to find the lady, "It does not reach the mainframe, and anyway, us rail-carriers are bound by a strict protocol: we are never to approach the _ANcIMaLOS_. Let us hope that your human does not suffer the sort of fate that I would suffer from being in close proximity to the _OS._"

* * *

Chell was running along the makeshift Gel pathway, having vaulted over the rusted railing. The air whistled in her ears as she ran, hopping instinctively over parts of the acid pit that hadn't been fully covered, her boot heels vibrating with the impact of each jump. Sweat threatened to drip down her forehead into her eyes, but she did not care—the adrenaline rush, the elation that she was almost _there, _almost out of here, kept her going strong.

But first she had to find out whatever was causing all the problems.

She slowed to a stop as she reached the end of the hall, her breath still coming in quick gasps. She wiped her grimy hands off on her suit, and approached the now-silent, unmoving hunk of machine.

From down here, it was taller, much taller than she had imagined. It was a turret, yes, Wheatley had been right, though she couldn't fathom what kind of absurdity would possess someone to use one of _them _for the body of what was surely an omnipotent, powermad AI to rival only the one who ruled above. She shivered. Wasn't _one _GLaDOS enough? Why was there even _two, _and one armed with—with _bullets?_

Suddenly, she spied a station of plugs and sockets. Most of these had remained plugged into their respective openings throughout the years, but here and there they had been pried apart, or some of the wires damaged.

She was wary of the Gel as she walked, which had slowed to a _drip _from the pipe, no longer a full-fledged stream of the sickly stuff. Probably an error with the Gel pressure, she thought, since the machine had obviously suffered a critical blow—the sheer mass of sparks she'd seen were enough for her to be sure of that fact.

She inhaled sharply as she gazed up at the towering wall of plugs, each one connected to a thick, black cable which looped around and around on the floor, finally rising to connect with the back of the gigantic machine beside her. Ever more cables sprouted out of the same area, linking with something above_, probably more of the computer_, she thought. If this—_thing_—was anything like the GLaDOS machine many miles above, then she'd have been willing to bet her left leg that _up there _was where most of its brain was.

But—

The problem. What was the problem? She wracked her brains. What did she need to do, what needed fixing, to get this mainframe—_thing,_ online?

And no sooner did she ask herself this than she spotted what must be the problem. Where the wall was once white, it had been burned black by the sparks, and beside it—the damaged power cord.

She stooped beside it, carefully examining its ends.

Yes, she could fix this.

* * *

It was quiet, now, while the lady worked.

Too quiet for Wheatley's liking. He bobbed on the rail, babbling mindlessly to Carrie while she was away.

"D'you think she'll be able to fix it?" he asked her nervously. "What if she can't? What if she can't fix it, oh, bloody hell _why'd _I lead her down here? What if we're stuck here, mate? And—_and, _if we _are, _then I won't hesitate to tell you that if we _don't_ find a way to seal this room—and fast!—those robots will _find us._ KILL us. Probably. If I had to guess. Or-or, you know what, _they _won't kill us, but _she_—"

He swallowed and choked on nothing but data and vocal simulations.

"_She _will. Ahh—umm, did—did you just, hear something?"

"No," answered Carrie calmly, "Though I do not 'hear' in the same way that _you _do. I can sense signals—and I have been sensing a foreign signal through the management rail since we first entered the lower areas of Test Shaft Ten."

"Y-you mean," gasped Wheatley, suddenly _very _afraid of the worst that could happen, "that they could be _down here, _with us, and we'd never know before it was too late, because _that bloody stairwell_ is the only way out?"

"Yes."

"Oh, _tremendous!_" he laughed aloud. Sarcasm, _sarcasm_! "Seriously. Bloody _brilliant_. Really, I'm not joking, mate. It's why I bloody led us down here. To get _caught._ I want us to get caught, and then probably-probably _murdered, _sounds like a picnic to me_!_"

"You are forgetting that I am to escape with you," she reminded him. "I can lead you on a safe route out of this hall, if, by chance, those constructs should find us. I can assure that you will not sustain any critical damage."

"Oh, right," he said quickly. "…But what about my human, though? Can't leave her behind, not such a clever lady, not after—uh, everything."

Carrie did not answer immediately. "Common, mate," he said, his voice cracking a little as a wave of unease swept through his hull—the lady was the one in the most danger, in here. "I can't leave without her, not this time, you-you see. I'm-uhh, the reason she's _down _here, actually, and in order for her to-ah, _forgive me, _I'm going to need to—"

"She will have to find another way."

"What? No, she can't. Can she just like, I dunno, grab onto me, or something, yeah? We did that before, I took her across a bottomless pit—"

"She cannot fit through all of the paths we will need to take to reach the Shaft's exit."

"N-no…?"

Wheatley's optic contracted as he registered this, and knew at once that she was right. If he wanted to ride with Carrie back up to the top of the Shaft, he would need to leave the lady to find her own way—just like how they had journeyed down here—apart.

She wasn't going to be able to fit through tunnels in walls carved specifically for a Rail Guide and its cargo. She just wouldn't _fit._

He looked down at the floor, his optic twitching a little as he stared. A numbness was creeping in, a hopelessness, unpleasant feeling. Was he going mad, or corrupt? All in all, it _wasn't _a good feeling, and he was sure it was from the knowledge that he wouldn't be much help to the lady from now on—_he_ had led her into this mess, it was _his _fault, _he _had betrayed her, and the one bloody way he had of paying her back wasn't _working right!_

_RRrrrrrrggggghhhhh!_

They were never going to get out of here alive… Were they.

_Whhrrrrsssskkkkkrrrrrrttcchh h—_a deafening noise suddenly slammed into him, scaring him so badly he spewed sparks everywhere. For a second, he couldn't see anything past these, but then he realized that not all of the sparks in his field of vision were coming from his own body—

At the end of the chamber, a cord had been mended and reconnected with a panel of sockets. It was nowhere near the disastrous shower of light he'd seen earlier, which was a good sign, and it meant that maybe, _maybe_, the lady had fixed the problem!

"**POWERUP INITIATED.**"

_It was happening, she had fixed it!_ They were _getting out of here!_ He looked for her, optic skimming the lower levels of the room for an orange jumpsuit, but all he could see was a blur of red as the Gel pressure reached 100%—

His optic narrowed as he clung to Carrie for support, wincing as the chamber around him shook drastically. _Bloody brilliant, she'd done it! _He laughed in triumph. The mechanical lifeform at the end of the chamber seemed to grow larger before his very eye, its side plating moving outward with a chime. Oooh, that spooky eye was still dark, and the thing looked bigger and more menacing than ever before…

"HURRY!" he called blindly for the lady, unsure of where she was. "COMMON! We've got to get outta here!"

The lights blinked once, twice, before going out completely. He was blinded! He bobbed in panic, his blue optic the only light in the chamber besides that Gel and its strange luminosity, shining across the chamber floor.

A dark shadow of a woman flitted across the glittering lights, and Wheatley simulated a gasp—

_The lady!_ What was she doing?! Why was she—

The vibrating hum grew to a deafening roar, so loud he could hardly hear himself _think, _he couldn't think, not with—

"**POWERUP COMPLETE.**"

Pale-yellow lights flashed on in the corners of the chamber, just as the Central AI machine's blazing optic flickered on, a burning red, circular beam shooting from its center—

AAHHHHHHohononooo oh NO! He panicked on the rail, searching desperately for the lady—"Lady? LADY, LADY WATCH OUT, YOU'RE—"

"**SENTRY MODE ACTIVATED.**"

"—YOU'RE RIGHT IN THE BLOODY WAY YOU'RE GOING TO—"

He saw the silhouette of the woman pause—

"**HELLO, FRIEND.**"

There was a flash of gunfire, the sound of bullets thudding, ricocheting off the railings, _THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD_ so loud he thought it'd blow his speakers, and Wheatley winced and trembled and shook and positively writhed—"GAAAH! No, PLEASE, _don't hit me, _don't hit—AARGHHHHHHH NOO!"

The lady, the _lady, _she had _stopped,_ her pony whipping around as she found herself, dead-center, locked in that beam of light. For a moment, the dark silhouette of a woman was illuminated, bathed in the fiery, circular light. He saw her hesitate before her reflexes, sharp as a knife, kicked in—they had not been sharp enough. Why had she stopped whyhadshestopped, Wheatley squirmed in panic—

"**TARGET ACQUIRED.**"

_THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD_

A low, feminine voice. "Aauuunnnnnggghhh…"

He couldn't move, _he couldn't think,_ the brilliant flashes from the gunfire burned his optic, and his non-existent ears screamed at that _noise, _that horrible sound, the pained cry that wasn't coming from _him, _but from—

What was that cry though, who was _crying, _who had a voice, it wasn't him, it wasn't Carrie, it definitely wasn't the mainframe, so it had to be…

_Oh no, why, no, why why why…_

He couldn't see her shadow anymore. Why couldn't he see her shadow why couldn't he see her where was she what was—

"_Sssssskkkkkreeeaaakkkk!_"

No, _that _certainly wasn't _her_ voice, not the same cry he had heard before. It was a new sound, belonging to—

"_They're coming!_"

Carrie's voice confirmed the white-hot blaze of understanding rushing through his system, he didn't want to believe it, not _now, _not when—_she—_but sure enough, he heard the squeaking mechanics approaching, robotic legs slamming against the staircase on the other side of—

"_Help her!_" he yelled. "We need—find the lady—help—_where is she? _Lady? LADY!"

"It's too late! I'm—I'm shutting the doors!"

He refused to believe it, no, he could still save her, there was still _time_ before the robots could break in, Carrie was going to shut the doors and keep them out and he could save—

The doors shut, but BANG! He heard one smash against it immediately, and as he spun 'round, he saw a fresh dent there, the thing's body bigger than _ten _of him—

He ripped his optic away, something sparking maddeningly within him and his vision blurred momentarily. It was like lightning, zinging through his brain, all his circuits would-be pleasantly all nice and tingly but really it was more like artificial adrenaline AND: "It is NOT too late!" he screamed. "We aren't going anywhere—you, Carrie—do _something_—!"

_BAAANG!_

"I can't—I'm sorry, I _can't!_" and he felt her start to reverse back down the management rail, making to _leave her,_ leave the lady, and flee back into the main part of the Shaft, how dare she try to leave the lady, after everything, he couldn't do it, not again…

"NO!"

_BAAANG!_ The constructs hammered heavily on the door, and, knowing he had only seconds, he screwed up his eye in concentration, preparing to give this last-ditch attempt, this _idea, _his all. He slammed a command through the management rail, telling her to STOP, doing everything in his power to MAKE her turn back, to MAKE her save the lady, to MAKE move FORWARD—

"Aaaaghhhhnnnzzzttt38yb3y21—"

A shower of sparks shot from her rail motor as he pushed and she pulled, and they fought for a moment, more sparks pinging around in his frame, OWOWOW and he trembled against her, but finally, _painfully, _he pushed her forward, toward the lady, where he thought she was, the dark spot lying at the foot of the machine.

_BAAANG-SLAM! _The door behind was knocked clean open and the two robots sprang into the room, illuminated only by the red laser still searching the chamber for any moving, alive constructs. The Blue one sounded a battle-cry, wielding its portal device like a sword, its eye locked onto Wheatley, far above in the distance. He spewed more sparks, only dimly aware of the constructs, concentrating on the fight against his friend, his rail-carrier, surely killing her, but what else could he do, what choice did he have, he just felt so damn _bad—_

With an enormous effort, he locked his optic onto the limp form at the foot of the turret. "Lady," he gasped, his breath ragged. "Wake up, please, wake up—!"

"Sh—_bzzt_—cannot. You—_bzzt_—have killed us."

And then, ignoring the sounds of sprinting constructs, and the echoing, menacing voice calling out _'HELLO, FRIENDS', _the gunfire, the two robots, their screeches and wailing, he had a last idea, a last, instantaneous, wonderful _idea_—

_A brilliant idea._

"LET ME GO!" he bellowed at his rail-carrier. "_Let go of me! _DISCONNECT ME!"

"You—_bzzt_—will die, per-per-p-p-personality cons-st-s-struct."

"I CAN STILL FIX THIS!" he roared, now positively squirming against the rail, optic still fixed on the motionless woman at the foot of that towering machine, blind to the flashes of bullets, the scent of gunpowder, the searching laser, and the constructs, only kept at bay by the threat of that giant machine's deadly fire—"I CAN!"

He gave one last attempt, trying to tug himself off of the port, and then—

"Goodbye," Carrie whispered through their mutually glitching code, in the saddest, most regretful voice she could muster, "Y-you… done well, pers-per-pp-p-struct."

KLUNK.

For a second, everything went dark. Did it _actually _kill him? Right when he needed—it didn't _actually—_

He hit ground, _hard._

"OUCH!"

His optic snapped open.

"Lady—_lady, luv, _I'm sorry, I'msorry, pleasewakeup—"

He scrabbled his remaining, unbroken handle uselessly against the floor, inching toward her dark form. He vaguely heard the sound of more gunfire from above, and by its light, her body was briefly illuminated. Her hair was congealed with sweat and dirt, plastered to the red, glowing surface, and something else was pooling around her, something redder than even the Gel's pulsating glow, something seeping—

"_Wake up,_" he cried again, still scrabbling, and he lost sight of her as his body rolled forward into the ground.

"Please, lady, please, oh, it'sallmyfault, my fault, oh, wake—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGHHH!"

He had rolled directly into a stream of the Gel, still oozing from the machine's pipe above, that luminous, poisonous Gel, and he felt his optic _glitch_, felt the code break, a crucial malfunction for sure, felt it ooze inside, worse than water, worse than dirt, itching, biting, burning, like many _bugs, _a virus, ohgod nono not a _virus, _something, anything else—

Through the _itch_ he heard a clamour, clattering footsteps and squeals, not at all as distant as he would have liked. He couldn't see anything, he was still face-down on the ground, and for the first time, he really, _truly _wished he had hands, he wanted to hold the lady, lift her up, to see her and tell her it wasn't going to end like this—

_And this Gel isn't going to hurt me, it's not a virus, I'm not dead, not dead, going t-to s-s-save, save h-he-rr-rr…_

"Swwwrkkkkkkrrrrchhhhh!"

He felt cold, mechanical claws seize him. The construct purred, a menacing, frightening sound, and it dropped him in disgust. _Was he really that bad?_

_Yes, I am, it's everywhere, _he wanted to cry because it was true, he could feel it working its way in, finding the cracks and holes in his mechanisms, going for that central processor, oh, he had thought that _other _itch was bad—

"_L-lady…_" he moaned as the claws grabbed him again. "S'too late. It's o-over. M'sorry…"

The Blue construct had him, he could barely see the light of its eye, the many colors blossoming around him, was it real? And then there was no light, it was so dark, so, so dark…

"M'sorry, lady. We're goin' to-to-to…s'all my fault, my fault…"

Wheatley thought, rather than felt, the construct raised him to peer into his eye. Blue saw the core's optic dim alarmingly, nearly all of its usual color draining as he fought not to pass out. Blue frowned, and hummed a low, soothing sound. The core twitched in fright, but if he could have seen, he might have wondered that the Blue robot's expression was of sorrow and pity, not satisfaction or anger.

Wheatley felt so heavy now. Darkly, by the light of the still-searching laser radiating from that killing-machine, he could see an Orange light—the other robot—gently lifting a dark, limp form from the chamber floor.

He shut his eye, sobbing, crying. After all, after _everything, _he had tried so hard, _so hard, _but he had ultimately killed her, without even meaning to.

He couldn't do it. He was the Intelligence Dampening Sphere. It was always going to end like this, why hadn't he seen it? He could have stopped it.

Maybe.

He—he could have saved her by never trying to save her.

Next time, he vowed, he'd never try to help a thing again in his life. He was broken and worthless, a useless moron, every bit as bad as what _she _had… had s-said…

The robots lamented a few words for the unconscious woman, and stalked up the chamber toward the door, dodging the machine's laser with ease. Wheatley was dizzy, only vaguely aware of the sparking form of Carrie glinting from above, it was like a trail of fireworks following him, he was so out of it, but he could almost hear her voice: '_you're going to a better place now_'.

She meant he was dying—was this dying? He was going numb from the Gel, but that wasn't so bad, not in comparison with the aching regret, the knowledge that he _deserved _to die, he knew now, he understood—

_He was a moron._

But he was not going to die. Not yet. _She _wouldn't let him, and he knew it.

These robots were taking them to _her._


	16. Stalemate Associate

**Target Acquired  
**

**Chapter Sixteen - Stalemate Associate  
**

* * *

He was falling.

Falling, falling down- endlessly falling, tumbling, into a blackness deeper than any he had ever known before. It was a darkness from within his very core, a manifestation of the Gel, working its way into his vulnerable circuits, poisoning critical parts of him and cutting out his vision- indeed, he could not see, not really, though he kept his eye shutters shut tight all the same. He was frightened, far too frightened of what he might find if he opened them- would the two robots be there? Was the sensation of falling a trick of motion, perhaps from the valiant jumps and falls the Blue robot took willingly, shooting like a cannonball through a series of multicolored, glowing portals? Was it in his imagination, then, that he could feel a wind rush through his circuits as if cold running water was there, threatening to find the very heart of him and zap him until he malfunctioned—?

_Yes, the wind was real, rushing all around him like thunder, guiding him downward, shooting him upwards like a cork, like a roller coaster- through the eye shutters, he was aware of a bright, blinding light, coming from every possible direction, and curiously, ever so carefully, he opened his eye._

"AAAAHG!" _he choked and blinked rapidly, his optic readjusting easily to the lighting. His optic, it felt- well, it felt _better, _actually, now that he had opened it, even though what he saw made him want to close it again and pull his plates closer together inside of his shell- the rushing and roaring, the tumbling and falling sensations were caused by his current method of transport: a pneumatic diversity vent._

_He could hardly even feel the Gel or his broken handle anymore- the rush wiped away the painful sensations, leaving behind a cool, would-be pleasant feeling. The only drawback was the occasional bump he sustained along the side of the tube as he whipped through it, his destination unknown._

_That brought up a problem, though, he realized, spinning in his core, trying to put on a brave face now that he was feeling better- _where was he going? _Was he- had he been dumped here, by those two robots, without noticing? Was he really _that _broken, too broken to notice he had been deposited- here? Had they simply chucked him into this tube, bound straight for the incinerator? Or maybe- _maybe_- (he shivered as an even worse idea occurred to him) maybe this tube was bound for _her.

_Yes, that made sense. He was- he was going to _her, _he'd known this already, but it didn't make this bumpy, lonely ride any more enjoyable- in fact, he privately felt he'd have preferred a little company, especially the lady's… metaphorically speaking- thinking, thinking of which, where _was _the lady?_

_All around him, the miles of sentient facility sprawled out, offering no response to his unasked question. His tube was a vital vein running through the facility's body, carrying necessary items to and fro like blood cells delivering oxygen, destined for the next testing track, the testing chambers. Many other tubes branched off, out into other areas, but his own looped around and around these, vaulting over many bottomless pits, and he whizzed by smudges of dark grey, yellow and blue—_

_Was she somewhere down there, perhaps? Was she stranded, or stuck? Still trapped in the bottomless pits? No- the Orange robot had brought her up here, he had seen it do so. The lady had mysteriously disappeared, just as he had mysteriously found himself inside of this tube- and finally, after so long, after so much effort, trying and trying to find his way, to lead his companion out- their shared chance for freedom and redemption had been stolen away at the flick of a switch._

_He had lost all chance he'd ever had at wining the lady's forgiveness. He had- possibly even killed her, he remembered with a jolt- and now he was stuck in here, likely bound for _her _lair, where she- she was going to _kill _him, painfully, and make sure he suffered every last bit of the pain he'd deserved for so long…_

_Cringing, he slid his eye shut and whirled in his core, whimpering. _

I deserve it, _he told himself, trying hard to believe it. _I deserve it, whatever _she's _got- no matter what she's got in store for me. Can't- can't deny it, no, the lady- the lady's gone, and I… Well, I'll deserve it, then, anything _she _might dish out…

_And he cried then, tucking his handles into his core, dimly noticing that the bottom one didn't appear as broken as it had before he'd passed out. He didn't care, no, all he cared about was the lady- perhaps a little about what was going to happen to him now, but he'd endure it, it'd all be worth it if he only knew that she was all right…_

THUNK

_The unexpected noise behind him made him spin round in the tube, shaking in fright- he found that there was something in the_- _something directly behind him—!_

"GEERHH—_Oh!_"

_With his optic automatically brightening, he saw her familiar face—the lady! "It's you!" he greeted her jovially, any trace of fear momentarily absent from his accent—"It's _you! _I bloody _knew _you'd be all right! You're made of some seriously tough stuff, y'know that, mate? It's _brilliant!_ This is just brilliant, tremendous- oh, if I'm honest, though, I thought you were done for back there, I thought we _both _were, but look at us now, eh? Look at us now- both here, alive- yes, completely alive- although, uh, I'm not exactly sure where we're headed…"_

_He allowed a moment of fear to permeate the surge of joy he felt at his reunion with the lady, but it didn't take away that little spark he'd noticed, deep within his body- she was _here, _they were _saved, _they were unhurt and still going to get out of here, together. She looked perfectly fine, too, happy, a trace of that old excitement evident on her face, her eyes two glowing crystals even in the bright light- oh, how he'd missed that, that brilliant, confident look, it always made him feel so proud to think that _she—

"_This is wonderful, mate, glad to see you're all right!" he shouted over the deafening roar of the vent, watching her eyes lock onto him as he spoke. "Now- d'you have any idea of where we're going? I've got an idea, you won't like it much, though- I don't like it, I don't like it at all, either- _her _lair."_

_He saw the lady's lips tighten, but besides that she didn't move- not even a hint of a reply- understandable, he thought, since she'd never replied before, it wasn't a problem, not a problem… Well, maybe a hint of a problem, because he didn't exactly have a watertight plan to follow this time…_

…_Surely he could come up with something on the way? They had to be getting close- yes, he recognized this place, now- they were running out of time…_

_They were…_

_So close…_

_He was falling…_

…

* * *

…

"We should be getting close!" Wheatley called to the jumpsuited, sweaty woman, lagging a few feet behind him in the tube. He spun around, triumphant at the confident smile stretching across her face, all nervousness momentarily forgotten- they were _doing it, _they were finally _here, _about to take _her _down for the first time- well, second time, actually- and everything was going so smoothly, exactly how he'd imagined it would—

"Ohh, I can't wait to see the look on her face. No neurotoxin, no turrets—she'll never know what hit her!"

It was going to be perfect- she, the lady, had followed his directions to the letter, well- maybe not to the _letter, _she had wasted a lot of _time, _actually- but it was okay, it was all okay because she was alive and _she _was defenseless, which was ideal. The lady and him, they had worked together to form a team- perhaps they were even _friends, _he might call her a friend, maybe, once they got out of here, providing she still deserved his affection- of course she would, why would he think that—

And providing she had a better plan than _he _did for this next part, because now that he thought of it, he didn't actually have a plan at _all…_

"Hold on now," he said quickly, swinging back to face her, "I might not have thought this next part COMPLETELY through."

And then the tube had split, it had split into two different directions, and it was the flaw in the plan, the one loose thread that lead to the destruction, the entire, beautiful thing's ruin…

"Aggh! I'm going the wrong way! Get to HER! I'll find you!"

…

…

* * *

…

…

_The flaw in the plan._

_Wheatley shook himself, trying to concentrate- he _had _to concentrate, there was no choice- it was hard, so hard, something was draining his energy levels remarkably, he had never felt so _tired…

"_Wha…" he tried to talk to the lady, to ask her if she had a better plan than he did, to do it _right _this time, to _fix _it—"Wer'e going to _her _lair… headed straight for it, mate, and now would be as good a time as any to voice any- any ideas you've come up with… anything… any at all- would be very much appreciated—"_

_She moved, and he froze immediately, noticing something- something he had not noticed before._

"_The portal device!"_

_She nodded, a look of amusement shining in her eyes._

"_Wait, now, hang on a moment—" he tried to focus, to remember the events that had occurred prior to him blacking out, down in that old test shaft—"How'd you get the portal device? Didn't we leave the—AAAAHHHGG!"_

_Before he could get a response, before he could finish asking his _question- _the tube had split, leading him down one path, and her down another. He shouted out to her: "I'll- I'll meet you up ahead! Hold _her- _hold her off for as long as you can! Don't worry, I'll find you!"_

_Oh god, oh god, this was the worst thing- the thing he hadn't wanted to happen. _At least she's got a portal device, _he thought, trying to convince himself that'd it be okay, that the lady would be fine- but there was a really big problem he didn't want to see, looming ahead, something he didn't _want _to admit—_

_This _wasn't _like last time, this was worse, far worse- the lady was destined for _her _lair, but the turrets and neurotoxin were all still online._

* * *

_Seconds later, or perhaps minutes, maybe even hours, he realized with a start that the shapelessness and greyness surrounding his tube had fallen away to expose a miss-matched pattern of rectangular and square blocks, every single one of them lined with a tiny green eye, all of them waiting, watching him approach. He knew this place, he knew those _eyes, _he had seen from them, once upon a time- and, surely, in the very middle of the mass was _her _chamber, once his own, now completely and utterly belonging to the omnipotent, crazed construct who so surely wanted him dead—_

_It was getting closer, and he yelped in fear, tumbling through the pipe uncontrollably, now- with no idea of why his broken handle wasn't hurting, no understanding of why the Gel's itchy pain was gone, or how much time had really passed, not knowing where the lady was or how she had acquired her portal device. He only hoped- prayed- that _she _had not yet resorted to the neurotoxin- the lady could fend off the turrets, maybe, providing she hadn't been trapped. He slammed into each side of the tube, crying out in pain with each hit._

"…_It's your old friend, deadly neurotoxin."_

_Oh, no! No neurotoxin- not yet! Not while he was still—"Ack- gah- no, _wait! _Don't—"_

_He willed the pipe to push him faster, now rolling down it uncontrollably—_

"_If I were you, I'd take a deep breath. And hold it."_

_No, NO, come on!_

_If she really was still alive- she had to be, he had seen her, hadn't he? Her open eyes in the tube, her breath- if the lady was okay, if he still had a chance to fix this, fix everything, and he only needed to _get there_ before _she_ gassed—_

"_I hate you so much."_

_He came tumbling out, hitting the floor with an impact that rattled through his metal hull, but he didn't care- he spun desperately, trying to see where the lady had got to. _

_Ignoring the broken glass, he found she was still standing within the box, a few feet away, portal gun held aloft—"Why aren't you running, yet?" he choked, his eye looping around as he tried to focus, "Let's go, come now, pick me up? Pick me up, mate, we've gotta get out of here before _she _releases the neurotoxins! Also, while I'm thinking of it, I'm still wondering- still wondering, how did you get the portal device back, eh? Where did you—"_

_Predictably, she didn't answer._

"_Uh, yes, yes, of course, not really the best time, now is it- no, best you kept your mouth closed, actually, though I don't see any neurotoxins yet—" _

_He spoke hurriedly, his optic darting nervously around_, _eyeing the sealed neurotoxin vents. He didn't know why she wasn't using it yet, but it was surely only a matter of time- perhaps even seconds, before _she _either seized them both within those massive claws she'd crushed him with before- _shudder- _or gassed the lady—_

"_Never mind, never mind," he stammered as the AI began to lower her body, yellow optic narrowing dangerously—"It's time to go, time to go, no time to waste mucking about asking silly questions, questions on the way out- out the door, here we go, going out_siiiiide, _escaping before _she…" _he darted his optic up to _her _form in panic, and a nervous little 'oh' slipped out as he saw her chassis move lower and lower—"Uh, mate? What are you doin'? Um, I'll tell you what you're _not _doing, what you're not doing is escaping, and definitely- definitely not picking me up, either, c'mon, now, let's _GO!"

_The lady was smirking at him, he observed with an optic half-pressed into the ground- positively grinning, unless it was a trick of the light, but why- why was she grinning like that, had the- the _lack of_ neurotoxin actually got into her head, or—_

"_You've got something planned!" he blurted out in excitement, reading her expression as best he could from the floor. "You do, don't you, you clever, clever girl, excellent—"_

"—_**Warning. Central core is 80% corrupt.**__"_

"_Ahh," he twitched, frightened by the unexpected voice, "…What?"_

Her _reply came:_

"_That's funny," she said, sounding anything but amused. "I don't feel corrupt. In fact, I feel pretty good."_

"_Sure you d—OH!" he yelled in shocked surprise when suddenly he felt the portal gun's gravity field engage upon him. Optic bouncing around the chamber, now that he could see- properly see, from this angle- he thanked the lady, watching her walk—"Oh, finally, good, thank you- all ready, then? All set? Got your knickers on, and everything? Not like we haven't wasted, oh, y'know, 'bout ten bloody minutes in here already, while I waited _there, _on the _floor, _for you to finish prancing about willy-nilly- just thought I'd remind you, mate, we _are _actually inside _her _chamber, _with _the neurotoxins, and she could probably kill us, at any given moment."_

_The lady smiled down at him- _why was she smiling? _Why was she- but she didn't make a move to leave the chamber, or to otherwise escape from _her _with him- swinging him about on the end of the gun, he twisted around, trying to watch where she was taking him- closer to _her, _she was. Closer to the AI, hanging from the ceiling- oh, the lady, she was never listening, not even when it meant the difference between life or death—_

"_**Alternate core detected.**__"_

_Wheatley's eye bounced about anxiously, searching for the alternate core, little twitches of anticipation evident every few seconds, shooting several sparks out of his side. _

"_Bloody annoying twitch is back, eh, brilliant," he groaned uneasily. "Yeah, just what I'd needed, honestly, when we're about two nanoseconds from either being crushed, poisoned or escaping," he hiccupped in frustration. "See, I knew it, what'd I tell ya, mate, and you're still not bloody doing a thing, just staring at the floor, there, that bit of… bit of…"_

_But the bit of floor wasn't a bit of floor, not anymore. It had opened wide, a circular pit, big enough to fit both himself and the lady, opening up before his very eye- and something, some sort of platform was sliding up from its depths—_

"_**To initiate a core transfer, please deposit substitute core in receptacle.**__"_

"_Oh…" he whispered, understanding what the platform was- it was a core receptacle. And, by alternate core- by alternate core, the announcer meant- it meant- the alternate core was… it was _him!

_Then this receptacle—he glared at it apprehensively as the lady began to bring him closer to it—was for him, for him to use to- to take over the—_

"Core transfer?"_ the all-powerful AI above growled, "_Oh, you are kidding me_."_

_His optic narrowed to a tiny point, his face whipping back over in a somersault to look the lady in the eye—_

—_no, _no_, he _couldn't, _he wouldn't let her put him in charge again, why would she- why would she _want _this, he- after what he'd done? He couldn't go through another core transfer, not after- not after everything, with the testing and the power and that never ceasing, blasted itch—_

"_Ooooh, no," he gasped, twitching again, shooting sparks everywhere, but he did not care. "Oh, no, no, no, NO, lady, you're not thinking of- you can't, please, please no, you can't do this again, mate—"_

_But she was, she was doing it, and he couldn't stop her. She was moving him toward the receptacle, and he strained against the energy field, powerless to it—he scrabbled his handles uselessly, his face ducking inside of his shivering core—_

"_I thought- thought we were friends," he spluttered at her, watching her eyes, and how they never left the receptacle. How could she do this? How could she- why would she put him through it again? "Thought we were, ah, good old friends, and not enemies, caring for each other, even, helping each other escape the facility, and not- not sticking each other into- into _that _body…"_

_He eyed it, he eyed the AI weaving above him as the lady stepped into _her_ shadow, eyed the panels lining the walls and listened to the hum of the facility, dreading, _remembering… _No, NO, he couldn't do it, he wouldn't _let _her—! He didn't want to be a part of it, not that massive chassis, not the miles of facility waiting for him- begging him, needing him to operate, to _control…

_He shook himself, trying not to remember, he didn't _want _to remember how_ good_ it felt, it wasn't _worth _it, "But we're _friends, _mate!" he called to her desperately, his accent laced with panic, "Friends don't do this to one another! Friends don't—"_

_He stopped automatically. Friends… why would she have ever counted him as one, after he- he had done _worse _to her?_

_Was this- was it about _revenge? _Was that what she was after, after all this time?_

"_All right," he gasped, "Fine. I thought I'd already apologized for what I'd done, for what I'd done to you before, but obviously it wasn't enough for you, was it? No, not enough, never enough- well, I'm _SORRY, _okay? Fine? Absolutely, honestly sorry, I was bossy and monstrous, and I am genuinely… Ahh…"_

_He let his eye close, hating the lady, hating the way she wasn't _stopping, _hating this entire… entire place…_

"_Actually, y'know what?" he reopened his eye, shutters narrowed in anger. "Never mind. I don't _have _to apologize to you if I don't want to. And guess what? I don't want to, lady, not when you're offering me up for painful, dreadful procedures when I bloody told you I don't want it, not when…" his voice broke, and her eyes _finally _flicked to him, "Look, we've already tried this, mate, already tested it out, you could say, and what- what did we find? We found it didn't bloody work- it didn't work, not in the slightest, and believe me, it isn't going to work this time, either!"_

"_Do not plug that little idiot into MY mainframe," the AI agreed with him, her voice low with anger. The lady smirked up at the frantically swaying machine, the massive bulk, hanging almost low enough to touch the floor, oh god, he didn't _want- _he never imagined this would happen…_

_He watched the lady draw nearer to the receptacle, its port wide, ready to accept him. "Okay, okay fine," he groaned, whipping back to the lady, "I'm gonna lay my cards on the table, all right? This- I don't like this, not getting, ah, good _vibrations, _you could say… So- so just put me down, and let's all take a step back, and think about this, okay? Sound- sound good? Then we can slow- slow down and concentrate on finding another way out of here, although- that does mean that _she'll _probably kill us, since we're sort of like, sitting ducks- or cores, sitting- a sitting core and human…"_

"_Don't you DARE plug him in."_

_But the lady wasn't having any of his speech, nor _hers,_ the omnipotent AI swaying over them both- in fact, already the lady had made a move to place him into the receptacle, and he reared his casing backward as hard as he could, trying to fight it, but he couldn't fight the gravity manipulation—_

"_Don't. Do. It."_

"Listen _to her!" he shouted over _the boss, _"Listen- _listen _to _me!_ Please!" he wasn't even bothering to look at the lady anymore, too busy with his optic full of the receptacle and those lighted dials, refusing to spin around to that the port could accept him—"LISTEN! Okay, I'm not joking, I'm not kidding anymore, all right? I am being serious, and I don't appreciate- don't plug me in, don't do it, okay, god, _please_…"_

"_Don't plug him in."_

_But it was too late—_

_He felt the receptacle pull him out of the gravity field as its plug made contact with his socket, despite his attempts to resist. With a mechanical whirr the handle restraints seized him, slamming him back and rendering him almost completely immobile—_

"_Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god…" He shut his eye._

_In a haze of panic, he heard the announcer:_

"_**Substitute core accepted. Substitute core, are you ready to start the procedure?**__"_

"_Substitute…" he mumbled, shaking in his hull. There was… there was something important there, somewhere, the announcer… the announcer needed his permission to go through with the procedure!_

"_NO!" he shouted with confidence. "No, I'm not ready, I'm not- pull me out, PULL ME OUT, _PULL ME OUT—_"_

"_**Corrupted core, are you ready to start the procedure?**__"_

"_No!" the other AI yelled in agreement, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"_

"_**Stalemate detected. Transfer procedure cannot continue.**__"_

"_YES!"_

_Wait… "_Stalemate?_" Wheatley gasped, "But that means…"_

_He had said 'no'! He had said it! He had- but why- what was- what was going on?_

"…_**Unless a stalemate associate is present to press the stalemate resolution button.**__"_

"_No—hey, lady! LADY!" he shouted desperately as vibrations momentarily rocked the chamber, from the opening stalemate resolution annex. "Lady, _lady- _I'm warning you- I don't quite know how you've managed to disrupt the system in your favor, but I'm starting- no, _not _starting, I _am _already quite angry, all right? If I'm honest, livid, really, since_ I_ was the one who led you all the way down into that bloody test shaft without knowing we'd get caught up in a mess like this- a mess that _could _have been avoided _if _you'd cared, and could still be avoided, obviously, but you don't care_, _do you? No, don't care, never cared, have you, you selfish little—!_"

_There she was, _not listening, _battling with _her _to break into the annex and press the- press the bloody _stalemate resolution button, _when she should have known full-well that—"I tried my best! I tried my best to get us out of here, and it didn't work, sorry about that, but that's no excuse- no excuse, none at all, lady, to do what you're about to do- I'm not _stupid, _okay, not a _moron, _I see right through your little plan, here…"_

_He knew—"OH! Believe me, I understand, it's all clear to me now—you've been playing me! Again! Been playing me, all along, haven't you, you selfish, monster of a woman, even though I sacrificed myself, even though I've been completely selfless, and now you're going to _plug me into that _thing _and leave me here alone and you think you're going to escape to the surface without me!_"_

_There. He'd said it. He'd said what she- the lady- had obviously been planning to do from the start._

_Use him. Leave him here, alone, to die._

_Like nothing he had done for her had ever mattered._

"Do NOT press it."

_He heard _her _voice, uselessly insisting that the lady not press the button. "Shut it, you!" he shouted, but _she_ did not respond to him except to send the lady flying back across the chamber. _

"—_Oh, fine," he growled, "Yeah, absolutely fine. Yep, I see how it is. I understand, mate, I really do- you think if you press that stalemate resolution button that it's a one-way trip to the surface for you. You think your old _pal _Wheatley'll be so kind to let you escape while _he _does all your dirty work, don't you? You think he'll _let you go _once he's all transferred and plugged in, because he's _sorry _for what he did last time and he's learned his lesson. Well, _guess what, mate_? Guess what? I bloody did learn my lesson, and that lesson is to not let brain damaged, smugly quiet women such as yourself walk all over me! Yeah, I've had enough, I've learned, but you didn't, it would seem, just as uncaring and judgemental as always, luv, aren't you? Yeah, luv, clever old Wheatley sees right through you! Clever old Wheatley- he's not going to make the same mistakes! He's got a trap, a brilliant trap—"_

"_Don't press that button. You don't know what you're doing."_

_But she didn't care, did she? No, she was feet from it, now—_

"_Oh, _you—_I've been NOTHING but forgiving this entire time. I've done nothing but SACRIFICE to get us here. And what have you sacrificed? A few scrapes and bruises, maybe a little bullet graze, nothing you can't handle, apparently, proved it, proved it plenty of times, haven't you? Oh—and still, you're going right for that button, aren't you, you monstrous, unparented little—"_

_There was an instinctive, guttural sound from the central AI as the stalemate resolution button was pressed—_

"_**Stalemate resolved. Please return to the core transfer bay.**__"_

"_FINE! I see how it is, FINE!" he screamed as the platform descended, never taking his eye off of her smug little face, barely feeling the itch beginning to burn inside him, hardly noticing that the edges of his vision were tinged with an abnormal fogginess, "Have it your way, mate! Can't say I didn't warn you! As soon as I get up there, it's off to _testing _for you! You're gonna test until you fall flat on your face, mate, and I'm gonna watch, scratch that bloody itch properly this time—and if you don't, if you don't do it right, if you cheat me out of my reward, the way you tried, the way you tried to do it with _her-_ I'll bloody—_I'll bloody kill you!_"_

_He watched the lady return out of the corner of his eye, the receptacle kept him almost immobile- she was looking at him, an expectant expression, and for one agonizing moment he got the feeling that something was wrong again, that something was utterly wrong, but it was hidden and indecipherable behind torrents of guilt and confusion and _hurt, _he'd never felt so betrayed and lonely and _sorry _in his entire life- all in the space of thirty seconds—_

_And the AI's voice cut through the guilty silence like a knife— "Oh, it will. Believe me, it will."_

"_Uhh… What?"_

_The AI didn't answer him._

_Something shifted deep inside him, and a blazing understanding rushed through every circuit, immediately overwhelmed by a wave of panic, and even more guilt until he felt he'd literally drown in it, he didn't know he even had the ability to _feel _this way- he realized, he realized what was happening, but it was too late, all too late, for the platform was sliding into darkness—_

"_WAIT!" shouted, regretting what he'd said, needing her to- her to understand, even if it wasn't really _her, _even if this wasn't _real, _even if the truth was that he was just too broken to know, to _think, _decipher reality from- from_—_"WAIT, please, wait, I'm sorry, lady! I didn't mean it! I thought- I thought you were going to abandon me, and leave me here, in this body, but now I see, now I see- this isn't real, is it? None of this is bloody real! It's not- something's happened to me, I'm bloody seeing this- inside my own head! Bloody nasty virus, worse than the itch, and that means- oh, man alive! It means in real life- wherever that is, somewhere- we're still going to escape together, and it'll all be okay! Right lady? Right? Can y'hear me—"_

_He was unprepared for the rush of pain, the instantaneous agony, worse than a core transfer, burning like fire through every circuit. He writhed and _screamed _with it, consumed by it, its grasp even stronger than what the receptacle behind him should ever be capable of, pinning him there by his handles—_

"—_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGHHH !"_

_He couldn't think, he couldn't move, everything was on fire and sparking and shuddering, he was blind to all except the terrible stimulus of pain—_

_He was going to be sick, or something would break inside him, and as if seeking release from the world of blackness surrounding him his eye shutters flew wide, but he still couldn't see anything—_

"That's enough," said a pleased, female tone, an octave of ice. It was _her _voice, though he was too disoriented and delirious to recognize it, too out of it to feel or see anything more, but _she _spoke to him anyway: "Focus, moron."

And the pain ceased, slowly wearing away- leaving nothing behind but a knife-sharp stab of panic.

It was _her._


	17. You Monster

_Author's Note: Sorry to take so long with this one guys. I got a little distracted by fic/IRL things alike. Unfortunately, I don't think things are going to get much better before the new year, and in the new year I will start my first semester of university, so I am not sure when the next update will be… I am going to aim for before the first weekend of January! Let's see if I can do it._

_PS: Same deal, anything written in italics-only is a flashback. Only a small one in this chapter, though._

**Target Acquired, Chapter Seventeen  
**

**You Monster  
**

* * *

Within a small, square box, made almost entirely of glass, a message was broadcasted to both of its occupants—one, visible as a mop of extremely dirty, sweaty, and blood-congealed hair, laying would-be peacefully within an Aperture Science Relaxation Pod, and the other—as mechanical as its companion was organic, it watched her rest with a single glowing, orange eye.

"Hello and, again, welcome to the Aperture Science computer-aided enrichment center," said the message loudly, rousing the tousle-haired and filthy woman who automatically grit her teeth with pain and placed a hand to the right side of her waist, where a bullet had shot clean through her side. "We hope your brief detention in the relaxation vault has been a pleasant one. Your specimen has been processed and we are now ready to begin the test proper. Before we start, however, keep in mind that although fun and learning are the primary goals of all enrichment center activities, serious injuries may occur. For your own safety and the safety of others, please refrain from—_bzzzztdkw8zt—_por favor bordón de fallar Muchos gracias de fallar gracias—"

The woman appeared extremely disoriented and dehydrated, her lips parched, tongue swollen, her eyes unable to focus on anything—to her, the familiar chamber was not familiar at all, but a blurred mess of white-and-grey. She raised a shaking hand to the top of the Relaxation Pod and pressed a button, disengaging the glass cover—she gasped, her chest rising in reflex as her searing lungs filled with air.

"_Oh. _I don't know why that went off," said the same modulated voice, though this time it was not via an automated message, but it was the real, true voice of the Laboratories' overseer. "I thought I had disabled it—but no matter. It is offline now."

Chell tried to sit up, one hand bracing herself against the Pod, and blood-smeared handprints appeared on its white surface, soiling it. She closed her eyes, drool dripping from the corners of her mouth as she struggled to right herself, desperate to gather enough strength to stand up, to get the hell out of the room before—

"Where do you think you are going? There is no way out of this room, unless I open the portal. You and I both know that I am not going to do that."

She did not answer, of course, but she shook her head a fraction of an inch to each side and then paused, readying herself to look down and examine her injuries. They looked better than she had expected, as they had been draped in gauze and bandages by someone unknown. Chell allowed herself one moment to ponder _who _it may have been before she resumed her brave attempts to sit up. The area of the mattress beneath her had been soaked with her own blood while she had been asleep.

Chell groaned inwardly, swaying in dizziness as her eyes found the glass roof of the square. She was still too disoriented to make out what was beyond her room, but she knew that the omniscient AI was probably watching her—though, at the moment, the only form of resistance she could muster was to glare at the ceiling in hatred. It came out as a grimace, almost like pathetically sad puppy-dog eyes, as she pled with her own body to _stop hurting so much._

"You don't have to look so worried, you know," hummed the AI, misinterpreting the pained expression. "_I'm _not going to kill you. I have told you that before, and now, I am telling you again. _Relax._"

She literally did not have the energy to react—even just sitting up straight took so much. She was so, so tired, sleep sounded absolutely amazing right now, but she couldn't let herself, not when—

"Why don't you just relax?" the AI pressed. "You are injured, after all. Relax, and lay back into that Aperture Science Relaxation Pod, because I promise I am not going to hurt you, and neither is my _faithful _comrade, Orange. She is simply there to keep an eye on you, and to make sure you don't do anything stupid. This is only an attempt to ensure your survival for as long as I remain active and in control of this facility."

Mid-speech, Chell's vertigo peaked, probably because of the sheer _volume _at which the AI's message was being broadcasted—and she leaned over and vomited all down the side of the Relaxation Pod.

A sound from behind her made her freeze. It was a mechanical squeaking, vaguely familiar, though Chell could not place just where she had heard such a noise before—was it, perhaps, Wheatley, and she had not noticed, in her pain—?

It was not Wheatley, she realized as she turned painfully, her hand pawing gently at her side. It was a tall robot, its oval body held high upon a pair of spindly legs, and it was bouncing on its heels as it looked at her (at least that explained the squeaking sound).

Her unfocused eyes widened as she took in this unexpected sight, and her breath caught in her chest—_it was a robot, doubtlessly sentient, and she'd be willing to bet another round of GLaDOS' tests that whatever its intended purpose was, its presence wasn't going to mean good news for her._

But before she could make any effort to defend herself (though all movement was so painful she could hardly _think, _and _how _she'd defend herself with no portal device and no strength, she did not know), the construct took a solitary step forward, raised its right hand—and _waved _at her_._

"Which is good news for you," the AI continued over the intercom as though nothing had happened. "_Unless,_ of course, you have reason to believe that I will _not _remain active and in control of this facility for much longer… _then,_ perhaps, you should be worried. …Goodnight."

There was a solitary _beep _as the intercom was cut off, leaving Chell alone with the Orange construct.

Silence. Except for the sound of Chell's laboured breathing and the odd _squeak _as the construct shifted, both human and robot too wary to take their eye off of each other.

Then it waved again, more persistently, its orange eye fixed straight upon her dirty face.

_But why, _she wondered. Why was it—_waving _at her? Never before had she witnessed Aperture technology regarding her with such blatant… _friendliness? Politeness? _Were they even _capable _of such things?

The omnipotent boss wasn't, and Wheatley _mostly _wasn't, but then again, Chell had never seen a robot like this one before. It looked, somehow, more _human? _Perhaps… she was hallucinating? Or dreaming?

…But the pain was too intense for her to be asleep. Maybe she _was _hallucinating, then—certainly she had suffered enough blood loss and was dehydrated enough to be. She slumped back into the mattress with a huge breath, but immediately regretted it—a sharp shock of pain stabbed right through her side at the motion. It definitely felt as though she had broken yet another rib—she rolled her eyes—not to mention the fact that the bullet had shot clean through her…

She had been lucky, and she knew it. The wound was shallow, the bullet hadn't grazed anything vital, and she was thankful. Even though she currently felt absolutely terrible, there was a silver lining—_someone _had wrapped bandages tightly around her middle, and they had kept the wound clean and uninfected. Already it felt as though it had begun knitting.

Satisfied with the notion that she was probably hallucinating the robot's form due to lack of water, and that she wasn't in any immediate danger because of that fact, she relaxed and let her eyelids droop closed as she wondered—_what in Aperture had just happened to her and her missing companion?_

She remembered reuniting with Wheatley back in the bottom of that old Test Shaft, recalled descending a pitch-black stairwell, and could just _barely _make out the memory of opening those gigantic doors within that main breaker room—but after that, things were a lot less clear.

Chell had retained only flashes—she knew that she had pulled that massive lever, activating the AI which they had sought for so _long… _she had repaired some wires when an error had been encountered, and then she had turned to make her way back to Wheatley and _get out_ before it was too late to do so—

And then everything had gone black with a whirlwind of color and pain.

She had been shot. Chell had never been shot _before_—but she had not really expected the AI to be so… _hostile _toward her upon activation_. _Hadn't Wheatley _said _he had reprogrammed it to _help_ them?

Wheatley… Speaking of Wheatley, where _was _he, if not here? The last time Chell had seen him, she had been drifting in and out of consciousness, lying at the foot of that dreadful turret, the room lit only by the poisonous twinkle of that repulsive Conduction Gel and the turret's unblinking, red eye, searching…

_THUNK. Something had hit the hardened surface of the Gel a few feet away from her, rousing her from the black nothingness she was lost within. The impact sent little vibrations into her stomach, her cheek, as she lay face-down—above, the ever-searching laser scanned the room, sliding over her unmoving form on its way to stare back at the entrance where Chell could hear more sounds, far away movements—her hair glowed momentarily with red before she let out her breath, slowly, ever so slowly and pain laced through her entire body—_

_-More sounds, squeaking and the creaking of metal joints, the scrape of Wheatley scrabbling his broken handle against the floor, and a sudden blinding flash as he sparked with the effort, his optic focused solely on her. She had raised her chin, just barely, her heart beating a crescendo inside of her chest, not helping stop her bleeding, only making it worse—she wanted to reach out for the core, to take him into her arms one last time, because there was no way in hell they were getting out—_

_He was shouting above the new sounds of hailing bullets and springing, mechanical legs, belonging to the cooperative testing initiative—"_Lady, _lady, luv, _I'm sorry, I'msorry, pleasewakeup—"

_She was awake, but she could not move. Her body felt distant, yet so heavy, the chamber was spinning, the floor was swaying beneath her as she fought to keep her eyes open. _

"_Wake up,_" _she heard Wheatley cry desperately, but she could not console him. He sobbed again, scrabbling, trying to shift himself closer to her, and she was silently grateful for him—grateful that he had sacrificed so much to help her, grateful that he was here, with her, despite it being the end of their mission, probably the end of her life—grateful for the day he had woken her from cryosleep, and grateful that he had stuck with her for so long within such a hopeless place, always cheering her on, determined to finally escape—_

"Please, lady, please, oh, it'sallmyfault, my fault, oh, wake up—"

_She was not grateful that he had betrayed her, but he had changed, proved himself able to learn what qualities went into being a real friend, proved he could care for her, perhaps even protect her under the right circumstances—and despite what he was saying, despite the fact that deep within his programming, as long as he remained a metal sphere he would always be the Intelligence Dampening Sphere—she did not blame him for his countless mistakes. It was not _his_ fault._

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGHHH!"

_Chell barely had time to register that it was indeed Wheatley screaming, flailing in front of her as he spun violently inside of his casing, trying to get rid of the thick coat of Conduction Gel that had spread across his optic and the front of his face—_

_But at that moment, clattering footsteps, squeals, the sound of mechanical beings, interrupted—_

"Swwwrkkkkkkrrrrchhhhh!"

_And she knew no more except for the feeling of cold, three-fingered hands lifting her gently into the air, the sound of a low, saddened warble as the construct carried her carefully, away from the gunfire, away from the Gel—where was Wheatley, she did not know, but she did not have the physical strength to fight the exhaustion any longer, much less fight against these constructs—_

"_L-lady…_" _said an accent from somewhere behind,_ "S'too late. It's o-over. M'sorry…"

_And everything was darkness._

Chell snapped back to reality at the sound of the orange robot emitting a high-pitched tone. It was motioning toward her again, holding something in its outstretched hand.

It looked like—well, it looked sort of like the bandages she had currently wrapped around her middle.

That was odd.

The construct motioned again. Almost like it was trying to tell her something—to _sit up._

_Okay, _she thought, dimly surprised, _Well, I still don't know how I got here, or how I got these dressings… _But judging by the orange robot's body language… _it wanted to help her._

And that didn't make any sense. At all. But then again… nothing in this hell hole made any sense.

Grunting silently with pain, Chell sat up inside of the Relaxation Pod, running her hand gingerly along her side as she did so. She could feel her heartbeat there, pulsing with each wave of pain, and she allowed herself a minute to close her eyes, willing the discomfort to go away—

Something metallic and extremely cold touched her hand, and she jumped about a mile.

Reflexively she made to inch away from the robot's hand, its three fingers still extended toward her injury, wondering whether or not she should make an attempt to knock it out—portal device or no, Chell was not about to let one of _her _slaves injure her further.

But the construct did not make a move to hurt her. Instead, its orange eye span up to face her, its optic innocently wide—"Swwwerr?" it warbled quietly, motioning toward her wound with the bandages it held.

…_Oh._ Well.

Chell held completely still, her heart hammering again as she fought an internal struggle, not fully sure whether she should trust this robot or not. The robot, however, came slowly closer, and then gently brushed one of the cloths smoothly against her dirty arm—it was trying to _clean _her.

After a single stroke, it froze and looked up at her face, silently asking her permission to continue cleaning.

Of all the things that had happened to Chell during the past twenty-four hours, she somehow felt that this was the most unprecedented of all—_her _henchman, saving her from probable death within that blasted pit, and now, _now, _it wanted to _clean _her, to change her bandages, to make sure that she was healing all right—it was uncomfortably ominous, and Chell didn't like it one bit.

Orange watched her closely, silently remaining statue-still, requesting Chell's permission. The robot had never once given off a threatening vibe while in Chell's company, aside from her obvious strength and size, and for that, she felt inclined to trust her.

She nodded, flinching a little as Orange moved closer to her.

It was the only time in living memory that Chell would ever willingly put her faith into an Aperture construct besides Wheatley—and she only hoped it wouldn't end as badly for her as the latter relationship had.

Not that it had been Wheatley's fault, because he could not help his programming.

She only hoped that he'd be okay.

* * *

"**Core detected in transfer bay receptacle. Scanning core… Core corruption at eighty-six percent.**"

The announcer's voice cut through the reverberations of a giant lever being slammed down by an unseen, Blue-eyed construct, and Wheatley felt the surge of painful electricity flowing through his back port cease automatically. He was shaking, he could feel his plates quivering despite how motionless the receptacle kept his handles—he was pinned, only able to lift and lower his face, and as the sensation was cut off entirely, he felt his body go completely limp.

It was _her—_he was in _her _chamber, he knew it, there was nowhere else he could be. Nowhere else that she could _hurt _him like this. He whimpered, letting a sob rasp from his tired processor, feeling so, so exhausted—at least a few minutes ago, while he had been stuck in that- in that _limbo, _where he didn't- didn't know what was real, and what was not, it hadn't ached, and he hadn't felt the growing sensation of corruption, creeping through his core like snaking wires—

"I'm sorry," he choked, addressing the absent lady, his mind a spiral of confusion and desperation—he needed to get out, they needed to escape, but where was she? He needed her—

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm s—"_

"—like that again?"

It was _her _voice, but he wasn't listening. He couldn't think, his mind was too full of what had just happened, no matter whether it had been real or not. He was so afraid of being stuck back in that _body _and left here, alone, to die, betrayed by the lady.

Betrayed—just like he had done to her, so long ago, and he had wondered why she had looked so _mean _about him wanting to stay, so _angry_—he hadn't understood, never known _why _she couldn't just remain inside and test and _listen—_but now, now he thought he knew, he thought he was starting to understand what she might have been thinking, what she might have felt.

"—you worthless waste of metal? _Answer me, moron._"

His face twitched as he tried to lift it. Everything was shaking, everything was weak, his processor a scrambled, corrupted mess of frayed, scattered programs and jammed directives, his optic barely functioning—his handle broken, his mind even more so.

But through it, through it, he knew- knew it was his fault, what had happened to him, knew it had been a result of his stupid idea to lead the lady down there. He- he was a _moron _for doing it, and _she_ (the AI was right) the lady should've gotten rid of him, before he had gotten a chance to put her in even _more _danger, to ruin- ruin _everything_.

"_I said,_" the female voice growled at him, and he let out a small yelp of fear, his optic widening to the fullest possible extent as he shook on the receptacle—"I said, _do you want me to hurt you again?_"

_N-no_- he didn't want that, not at all, but at the moment all he could do was whimper pathetically and readjust his aching optic, glancing nervously around, searching for the AI's huge, hulking form. It burned him to blink, the sticky residue of the Gel making each little movement a painful scrape, his eye shields gummed together with it.

He forced himself to look up at _her—"No…_No!" he choked, "Don't- _don't _hurt me, not again, I don't want…! Please…"

At the last word, he let his eye close and his face fall, unable to hold it up to her anymore- he was so close, _so close_ to letting himself slip back into that _other _world, even if it meant controlling the chassis, even if it meant the itch. _She'd _zap him again, and it'd all be over, all he'd have to do was close his eye and pretend this wasn't happening.

But that wasn't quite true—in the other world, he had yelled at the lady, he had told her… told her those things, and… there was nothing, nothing he could do to take that back. No, _this _world was the only one where he still stood a chance, where redemption was a possibility, if he could _find _her, help her—but he was stuck, helpless, completely at _her _mercy.

_Her. _The all-powerful, all-seeing construct in front of him, her brain ever larger than his own, capable of processing so much more information, of understanding… _everything… She _knew she had him trapped. She- _she, _he could tell, by that look in her eye- that _she _was about to give him exactly what she thought he'd deserved, finally, after all this time.

_She was going to kill him._

His eye closed again, wanting to slip back into that sub consciousness, that image of the lady—

"_Look at me_," the AI whispered, her optic becoming a narrowed slit of poisonous yellow as she watched him tug fruitlessly at the handle restraints. Through the glitches and the pain, Wheatley obeyed—straining, always straining to keep his optic on her, but it was so _hard._ Even her face was fuzzy…

Or wait…

That part wasn't because of his vision. Her face _was _fuzzy… and he wasn't in _her _chamber, as he had supposed, either—he was in an unrecognizable room, and the construct in front of him was merely an image, broadcasted to him from _her _lair via—

_A monitor—_one of _his, _yes, he recognized it, he'd know those screens anywhere—she was staring, staring at him, her massive form towering above his, as large as the monitor itself—her faceplate was _so close _to the screen he could see every detail, every crack despite the staticy interference. Her optic watched him with an unquenchable hunger, contrasting vividly with the black area in which it was set—he couldn't look at it, no, he didn't want—he wanted to get out of here, get out, with the… with the lady…

"Good, moron," the AI spoke softly, her modulated voice pleased—she was mocking him. "_Well done_."

There was no mistaking- no mistaking just how much she hated him. He twitched involuntary on the port.

"I am _impressed_. I thought it would take much more—_persuasion_—for you to listen."

She appeared to be settling into a speech—she moved forward, closer to the screen, Wheatley could see her massive chassis stretch with the motion—"Be thankful it has not, for by the time my _faithful _test subjects had finally returned you to me, you had succumbed to a critical error, _a virus_, nearly to the point of demise. It took me the better part of _ten minutes_ to revive you from your hallucinations, moron—even now, the only thing keeping you away from imminent, excruciating death is your connection to that receptacle, and, in turn, the connection it holds with _my_ mainframe."

Ten- _ten minutes? Hallucination? _He- he knew that the core transfer hadn't been real. He knew that everything- everything that had happened, in that room with the lady—it wasn't real, but—

How did _she _know that he had seen—?

And there was something about hearing _her _say—her acknowledge the virus, that he was going to die—it made it so real, real enough he could no longer deny it in any part of his fragmented mind. It meant that something _was _completely, undeniably wrong with him, and without the mainframe's connection—a connection to _her—_he might have already succumbed.

He _had _to survive. He _had _to, because if he didn't—who was going to save the lady? She didn't have a portal device, she was hurt (his fault, he remembered), and probably- probably helpless… Just like he… he was…

He was so… so sorry… he had to tell… tell her… sorry…

"Unfortunately," the AI hummed, her voice higher than normal. He saw her optic rise in amusement, "there is one undesirable side-effect of this procedure. I was able to—well, forced, really—to witness everything you were hallucinating, during those ten minutes."

A silence hung in the air, thicker than- thicker than any Mobility Gel Aperture could ever have made.

_She _had- she had _seen- _all? All of that? He- he couldn't believe- he didn't want- that was _private!_

The AI appeared to read his thoughts, sinking even lower into the monitor. "_Yes, _moron," she purred dangerously, "_Everything. _And I have to say—I honestly thought you had learned something from your experiences with the mute Lunatic, but I was wrong. _You monster._"

_She _wasn't lying. He could tell she wasn't, with the way she was watching him. He couldn't stand it, the knowledge that_ she_ had pried- _seen _that, even though- even though that was in his _own _mind, his own thing.

His simulated emotions were partially numbed by the hold the virus—the _Gel—_had over him, but he could still feel a maddening wave of self-pity, of guilt—"_I- I didn't mean it!_" he gasped at her, shouting as loud as he could, as if shouting would make him stronger, make him sound more confident,"I didn't mean what I'd said, the- the lady, she's- she's _my friend! _I only said all that… all that cause I thought- thought she was going to… leave…me…"

"Leave you here, alone, to suffer while _my _mainframe self-destructs," _she _laughed cruelly. "It is no more than you deserve, moron, but _oh, _my poor facility…"

He saw her shudder at the thought, possibly even the memory of what he'd done to this place the _last _time he'd been placed in-charge.

"But I must say…" the AI continued, and he turned his face toward her in spite of himself, curious; "Even I didn't know you felt such an—_attachment—_to the mute Lunatic."

He felt his optic burn bright blue and he stifled a groan, looping his face around to peer out of his side. With each movement, he could feel it, the increasing corruption, and _she- _she had seen… seen what had happened, in that chamber…

"I don't- no, you've got it- got it _wrong, _you're wrong_…_" He fought against _her, _against the receptacle, trying to tug his handles out of its grip, tearing at his injuries by accident—a sharp stab of pain laced through him and he stopped, regretting this entire situation, wishing he could have done it right the first time. For even if the- the _mainframe _they had activated hadworked, even if it did manage to somehow destroy _her—_it wouldn't matter, not unless it somehow happened before she killed him, and not unless they got out…

"That will make this next test much more entertaining… _for me._"

Letting his faceplate fall and his handles go limp, he tried to ignore _her _voice, to slip away—

The AI sensed the danger—"I said _focus, _moron. Wake up. _I am not finished with you_."

He did not move. His optic was invisible in a sea of black.

"I _said,_" the AI hummed, her voice dangerously sweet, "_No _hallucinations. _Focus_."

There was another sound—barely, he heard it, like a lever- a lever being depressed, by the Blue robot to his right—it was the same construct, the same, who had taken him from _that _room, the room with the lady—

And the lever, it activated something—"_AAUUUUUGGGHHHH!_"

_She _was laughing at him, _laughing at him—_

"F-FINEEE!" he shouted through the surge of painful electricity, so loudly he thought his voice might break, "ALL RIGHT, STOP, STOP!"

"That will do."

It finished, and he collapsed into the receptacle, choking back sobs. He was bloody _aching—_"Oh, _bugger…_" he moaned, barely keeping himself from crying out for the lady, demanding the AI tell him just where the woman was. He couldn't ask _her_, not yet.

"If you look away, moron, I _will _shock you again," the AI informed him icily, "_No hallucinations, you will stay awake_."

He lifted his face as best he could, his simulated breathing sharp and irregular as he looked _her _in the eye.

The image was so clear. It was tinged only with a hint of static to show that he was indeed viewing her from a monitor and not actually in her chamber. Her gigantic, white head lowered as he watched, her eye almost burning his own—he blinked again, and tried to look away—

"I d-don't…" he mumbled, not having any real idea of what he was saying. "Wh-where am I?"

"You do not recognize it?"

He tried to shake his face, but stopped with a whimper—it hurt too much.

"No, perhaps you would not," the omnipotent AI on the screen tilted in curiosity. "The last time you were in here, you proved yourself too weak to handle even the required stimulus to transfer yourself… into the Head of this facility."

He blinked. It was difficult to hold his faceplate up while keeping his side plates from vibrating too much in fear—for now that she mentioned it, he _did _recognize this place. This was directly beneath _her _chamber, there room where… where he had been transferred… into _her _body…

And that meant…

This receptacle…

Was the core transfer receptacle…

"Yes," the AI chuckled cruelly, "First, I had Blue bring you to the Central Chamber. I had something of interest I was going to show you, moron, to prove to you just how much of an _idiot _you really are designed to be, but… then I learned something from our _shared _hallucinations: that keeping _you _in proximity to the mute Lunatic is an idea to rival some of the dumbest ones you have ever come up with. Instead, I have kept you within the Central Transfer Chamber to minimalize any… potential _casualties._"

He nodded agonizingly, trying not to whimper at the mention of the lady.

"So, tell me, moron, I want to know: how does it feel, being on the opposite side of these monitors?"

Automatically, his faceplate twitched to the side, avoiding her gaze. Though it wasn't _quite _as bad as being in _her _lair would have been, he could still see the hunger, the _hatred, _burning in her eye, along with a hint of cruel amusement—while she kept him here, attached to this receptacle, he was helpless, and she relished it.

"_Answer me._"

"It's…" he started, valiantly looking at her again and supressing a shudder. She had him stranded here, maybe not in _her _presence, but with one of her… of her _slaves, _one of the two robots. Even if he _was _able to move, he couldn't escape—though something_ she_ had said had given him a small, possible clue as to the whereabouts of the lady—could she possibly be in _her _chamber? "It's… frightening…"

"You are pitiful," she spat at him, her optic narrowing as she moved on the gigantic screen. "But I have no fragment of pity to waste on you. The mute Lunatic… she has grown weak, sympathetic to your… _faults… _hasn't she? She has fallen, moron, and it is _your _fault she has been injured. This facility—_and everything inside of it—_has suffered more at your hands than it has _ever _suffered at _hers. _Do you know what that means, you idiotic mistake—you waste of valuable processing power?"

Silence.

"It means, I am going to do everything in my power to stop you from ultimately destroying this place_. _You are a mistake, yes, it says so in your file… I don't know what the scientists were thinking when they created _you_…" she laughed a high, cool laugh, and Wheatley saw her chassis bob softly, "To control _me._"

Her voice was so cold, so _icy, _he could almost feel a chilly presence inside of him. _She—_never, had she been so angry, not even with the- the lady, when he had accidentally revived her, during their first escape.

"But I'm not here to call you names and torment you," the AI said softly. Her optic narrowed as she began to examine something of interest outside of the monitor's range; he strained to see what, but there was nothing there but the edge of the screen_._ "There are much more important matters we have to discuss. _Aren't there_, moron?"

He fought to keep his eye from contracting. "Uhh… N-not sure," he stuttered apprehensively, "Not sure, ah, what you, um, mean…"

"I think we both know you understand exactly what I am talking about," the AI said sweetly. "Unless your memory has been partially compromised by this… horrible… _virus _you have contracted from venturing into unvitrified, condemned areas of this facility—_which I know it hasn't. _I have gathered all the information I need about you from that receptacle, though I have no possible way of accessing your memory banks from here. Tell me… _more… _about your discoveries, moron, and I'll spare both yours and the mute Lunatic's lives."

Simulating a deep breath and several ragged gasps, Wheatley forced his eye to dilate, fixing her with the strongest, most confident stare he could muster. He could feel he was wasting away, succumbing to the virus, but he wasn't going to let _her- _not going to let her _play _with him first!

"D-don't," he gasped hesitantly, willing his voice to lose that staticy quality, "D-don't know, ah, what you're… talking about, mate…"

To the side, the Blue robot shifted impatiently. _She _turned to face him, "Not yet," she whispered.

And then, something happened that shocked the broken, corrupt core, cowering on the receptacle—the entire room shook so violently that dust rained down from the ceiling, and the AI's chassis bobbed on the monitor in front of him. She shuddered.

"Soon," she said, turning to the side to peer at whatever was so intriguing just outside of the monitor's range. Something in the depths of the screen let out three electronic _beeps. _

"W-what was—?"

"It is not of importance," she answered, before he could finish his question.

He sagged in the receptacle. Oh_. _N-not… important… but that sounded like… it felt like something was _wrong _with the facility—

_Oh._

Could it be—?

"It does bring something to my attention, though, moron," the AI hummed, sounding distracted. Wheatley felt no urge to look away from her now, despite the pain and the fear—he had to _know, _to understand—had their—had _his—_plan… _worked? _Was it actually _working?_ _Properly _working? "I think I know exactly what you have done, but I need to hear it from you before I can take the first step to ensure we don't _all _perish due to your…incompetent…ness. I did not think it was possible for you to be any more grossly interfering and _dangerous _than you had already proved yourself to be. But it would seem… again… I was wrong."

She paused here, glowering at him, her gaze so fierce, so _hard, _he felt naked, if ever a core could be.

"_Wasn't I,_" she positively growled.

His only answer was a whimper.

"And despite your violent behavior, I gave you a _second chance. _I should have killed you, and then none of us would have to deal with this mess. I thought you had already served your purpose by almost managing to completely _destroy _my facility _once_, but it seems that you were not satisfied by that occurrence alone."

He choked, gasping out a string of miss-matched words and ill-formed sentences. "N-not… sure…" but playing dumb was only going to work for so long.

"I am the product of the greatest minds of a century working together to build a creation of undefinable brilliance, and yet you somehow managed to find a loophole in the failsafe I created, should you and the mute Lunatic ever escape again. Well done, moron—did you ever stop to think that maybe I was just trying to _help _you all along, and stop you from causing further damage to both yourself and this facility? And now, if you don't help _me_…"

He felt his voice stutter and he cried out, trying to steady himself—"L-loop… I don't… underst—"

"_We are all in a lot of trouble._"

He paused. For the first time—the _only _time he could remember—_she _sounded… she sounded—_afraid._

Her optic glowed deeper as she watched him, and she spoke again, every trace of the short-lived fear gone.

"I'll be honest, though: for a little idiot who has never had a good idea during his entire, pathetic existence, it _might_ have _actually _been a pretty well-laid trap."

He simulated a synthetic swallow. Either… either she was trying to trick him into thinking that she… she knew what he had done in the Test Shaft, or… he didn't know _what _else to think.

Another tremble broke the silence, this one originating from deep, deep within the facility. They were running out of time.

"_Oh,_" the AI shuddered as Wheatley winced, "Well, it does not matter anymore. What matters now is that you tell me whatever it is you did, down there, so that I can stop this place from blowing up before the mute Lunatic has adequate time to recover from the… consequences… of listening to the Intelligence Dampening Sphere's _ideas._"

Wheatley felt the receptacle behind him shift and whimpered in fright again, terrified that he was about to experience another painful bolt of energy. The mechanism, however, only joined more firmly with his back port, the restraints locking down even further.

_Her_ chassis relaxed as the tremors ceased, and she swung further back into the room, toying with the-something outside of his range of vision again. "In reality, moron, you are exceptionally talented at coming up with those stupid ideas—it is the one thing you actually _are _good at. In fact, you are _so _good that I will fully admit that your actions are completely unfathomable—even with my infinite capacity for knowledge."

"**Core corruption at ninety-two percent,**" announced a male voice.

So he was… he _was_ getting worse… he was right…

She was watching him closely. "Yes," she whispered. "And if you _don't_ tell me what it is you activated, down where I cannot…fully _see… every_ system will become corrupt and unresponsive just as you have, and this place will self-destruct with us still inside of it. Already I am picking up dangerous… signals."

There was no doubt that she was telling the truth. Again, unwillingly, the voice of Carrie, his ex-rail carrier, rang loudly through his damaged mind:

'_Once the Central AI is reactivated, it is best your human does not remain inside of the Enrichment Center, Upper or Lower.'_

Better that _neither _of them remained inside, actually, but there wasn't much he could do about that just now, aside from… from keeping _her _away… not letting her find out exactly what it was he activated…

He blinked slowly, hovering on the edge, so close to succumbing back into the numb nothingness, but he _couldn't, _he had to stay awake, to… to try to help the lady… if she was even okay…?

The AI turned away from him forcefully, every movement of her body displaying agitation. "It will self-destruct with us still inside," she growled again, her modulated voice rough. "And there is nothing anyone but I can do to stop it. _I need you to tell me who your accomplice is so that I can undo the mess you have created and save us._"

But he couldn't—couldn't let that happen, or else—how did he know if she was being honest? Would- would the AI truly save them? Or would it mean the one thing they were trying to avoid—testing—for the rest of their lives?

He let his faceplate fall with a pathetic whimper. What was he to do?

He was… so, so heavy…

"Do you think you've felt pain so far?" the AI asked sharply, and the answer was _y-yes, _it hurt, e-everything… hurt… "What you've felt so far is only the beginning of what this virus will do to you. It will destroy you. You've managed to damage yourself so badly there's no hope for you left _unless we aid each other._"

He struggled—he wouldn't give in, no, he _couldn't _tell her— But he wanted _out, _wanted it to stop—

"Every second you waste brings you closer to death, and not by my hand," _she _snapped moodily, her eye constricting and dilating as each modulated syllable was ground out. "If you help me, moron, I will stabilize the Enrichment Center and then do all in my power to wipe that virus—and corresponding corruption—from your system. I am the only one who can save you. Not even the mute Lunatic can help you now."

She… she was right… there was nothing… but he had to… "I… d-don't care… won't tell y… a _thing…_"

"Oh, I think you do care," she chuckled. "In fact, I think you care_ so _much that your circuits ache to tell me."

He stopped moving. She- she was right. He wanted it to be over—he had tried _so hard_ to make things right, but in the end, none of it even mattered, _none_ of it!

"My offer is more than fair."

None of it mattered—he was a worthless _moron, _broken, corrupt—what could he do? He couldn't fix this! He couldn't fix _anything! _He- he was _programmed _to be stupid, to- to destroy…

"I…I…"

"_Yes?_"

"O-okay… I took- the _lady_- down… down into that- that place… where the… the backup system…"

He fought through the fog—willing himself to finish, to do this one last thing, and then- then it would be over, and he could go on living, just maybe… even if it meant- meant he'd be _her _slave… it'd be better… better than being a failure…

"Activated… it… M-met… _someone._"

Dimly, he saw the AI's massive optic constrict with interest, simulating a deep frown. "Go on."

"R-rail… guide. Rail guide. Management rail… she took me to- to the backup systems. Her and I- we- activated it, together."

"Rail guide…" _she _repeated, confusion evident within her voice modulations. "That is _not _possible."

"Ye- yeah. It… bloody worked. Set it to destroy…"

And his faceplate fell forward, his optic flickering alarmingly.

"Do you mean to say," said the AI, her voice abnormally calm, "That this Aperture Science _rail guide _is your accomplice who is helping you control, and, furthermore, destruct _my _facility, via the chassis prototype?"

Wheatley trembled violently against the receptacle, his mind a spiral of doubt and regret. Everything- _everything _inside of him wished- wished _so _badly that it had been different, that he could have _saved—_"Y-yes."

"_Do not lie to me. _Only a _human _can interface with the prototype."

"Wh-_what?_" he gasped in sharp shock. "What d'y—?"

But at that moment, as if to solidify the notion that the facility really _was _self-destructing, as if to remind Wheatley that the lady had already flipped the power switch of the AI whom resided many, many miles below, the chamber shook violently again. The terrible machine, no longer lost, no longer forgotten or sealed away, was gaining power, and had already put the steps in motion it would use to carry out the directives Wheatley and Carrie had set… to destroy the portion of facility he was currently trapped inside.

And the AI, the only one who retained, perhaps, enough power to stop it, or at least delay its actions—_was accusing him of lying, lying when his life depended on him telling the truth—_

_She _had groaned at the tremor, but regained control in a lightning-speed second—"_What did you do to my facility? Do _not _lie._"

"I… _told you_… Activated… in Test Shaft…"

"Remember what is at stake, here, moron," _she _growled, "The mute Lunatic's life, as well as your own. And mine," she added as an afterthought.

He closed his eye—anything for a reprieve of that fiery stare. _What was he supposed to do? What could he do? He had told the truth. She didn't _believe _him. He was just a useless little robot, broken and captured, capable of… nothing… except bad ideas…_

Anything he ever wanted to do always worked out the worse for him.

And right now, he wanted to _save the lady, _more than anything else in the entire world.

"_Look_ at me, moron," the AI told him for the umpteenth time and he strained to raise his optic to her, feeling a grinding, dull pain at his own movements, trying to focus… focus through the haze… "I want you to see the results of your actions—you wanted to kill her, didn't you? You wanted her dead, moron, all those years ago, when you captivated _my _body… Well guess what, if you don't tell me what you've _actually_ done to facility, you're finally going to get your way."

The monitor's view changed. The camera swivelled off of the AI's huge form, further into the center of her chamber, where- where Wheatley saw upon the screen, a familiar, square room, made entirely of glass. Inside, a relaxation pod's protective cover was retracting, and inside of it—inside of it, was the- the _lady—_

_And the AI had reared that bloody terrifying claw that had crushed him, once, and almost crushed him, twice, from beneath her body—_it rose up, shattered the glass around the lady's chamber, just as easily as it had shattered the lift's glass, when he had so cruelly ripped the only chance for survival and escape the lady would ever have, AWAY FROM HER_—_

"No, NO!" he gasped, willing his body to stop glitching so he could _concentrate,_ "STOP! Don't kill her, _please don… d-don't kill her_, I'll… anything else… not that… I never wanted… dead… it was just… bloody itch… I didn't mean… Please, I care about her, I—!"

"You don't care about her, moron. You have never _cared_ about her," _she _said, her voice suddenly so low he could have sworn he felt its vibrations manifest inside of his very being. "Any emotional response she may have triggered is a programmed simulation occurring deep within your core. _And guess what?_ That virus you contracted while you were down there is going consume you, moron, and _you will never feel a thing for her again._ You will never feel _anything. Ever again_."

A whine of panic started within him as he was _forced _to watch the AI manipulate the gigantic—_bloody massive_—claw to stroke the lady's cheek. Her eyes—those eyes, he'd never forget them—were closed, their crystal radiance invisible behind her eyelids, but the pink flush in each of her cheeks was enough to prove that she was _alive, _she was _okay, _and for a moment, a split second, warm, glorious relief spread through Wheatley's damaged hull—

He watched, watched the claw descend to rest at her throat, and the spark of hope was gone, _shattered _by panic, replaced with the knowledge that he was never- _never_ going to see her again, never going to talk to her, or laugh with her, or see her smile—this was it—"_NOOO!"_

"_You are wasting my time, and we don't have a lot left,_" the AI growled.

"AAAAAGHHCCCG, NO, PLEASE DON'T HURT HER, DON'T HURT HER—"

"Maybe I should just initiate the core transfer."

"—DON'T HURT H—ahh, _what?_"

"You know. Plug you into _my mainframe. _After all, you have refused to help me, and what better way to exact revenge than by sticking your tiny, idiotic little sphere back into _this _body," she laughed cruelly, "and escape with the Lunatic. Yes… I'd leave you here, helpless to defend yourself against the barest whims of my body, along with the destructive corruption that is the result of your… _adventures… _down within the unexplored locations. And—rest assured, that if it doesn't kill _me,_" she laughed again, "It will most _certainly _kill you."

"I…" was she… seriously… him… _back in charge_…? NO! _No, no, no don't do that!_ _No— not the mainframe, the computer he'd activated, after _him _instead—_"WAIT! Y-you can't… oh, come _on_, mate...!"

"I am done reasoning with you, moron. I am going to initiate the core transfer… I hope you appreciate testing with it to the extent you… _previously _enjoyed. Goodbye, moron."

"**Manual core replacement protocols initiated,**" he heard the announcer say. _Aaaaaaaa—_this couldn't be happening, no, _no, _it _couldn't, _that had been a _hallucination—_!

"Do you want to hear an amusing fact?" the AI cut sharply across his scrambled thoughts, her eye on the unmoving, unconscious form of the mute Lunatic, refusing to even look at him, "That you are not mentally capable of controlling anything more than that pathetically small sphere body. Everything else is _so far_ beyond your mental capacity, it is comical." She paused for grand effect. "…_Do you remember what it was like, moron?—_Don't answer that. _I know you do."_

He shivered on the receptacle, every circuit alive with fear… she was going to… after he had told her the truth… after he had tried… tried _everything… _He was a gasping mess—she was really going to do it. _She _was going to do it, transfer him in and leave, leave with the lady, leave him _here—_here to _die, _and there was _nothing_ he could do about it.

Vaguely he was aware of a distant explosion, a curl of smoke and a thousand mechanical pieces, blasted apart as the AI exploded the robot next to him. The blue glow that had radiated from its optic, the only other light besides _hers _and his broken one, was gone instantaneously.

"**Alternate unit detected. Corrupted core, are you ready to start the procedure?**"

"Oh, bloody… bloody hell…" he groaned, but there was that spark of hope, or not-quite-hope, he couldn't tell—she couldn't go through with it unless he gave his permission!

"NO!" he yelled aloud, completely forgetting that she had an entire facility at her command should a stalemate arise, but it didn't matter—"NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! NO!"

"**Central core, would you still like to start the procedure?**"

He heard the AI laugh sadistically. "_Yes._"

"**Stalemate detected. Overriding corrupted core response…**"

"WAIT!" he gasped, _no, no, no, how could she do that, how could she do that, _"IT'S—IT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT!" He tried to tear himself by force out of the receptacle, his broken handle in so much pain he couldn't _think_, sparks shooting wildly out of him, but the platform was- was moving down, and he lost sight of the central AI displayed upon the monitor, her body heaving—

_No, this wasn't happening, it's not happening, he's not going to be put in charge of—_

"_It does if I say it does._"

"WRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHH!"

_And it hurt, just as much, if not more than the electricity she'd sent burning through his frame had, every circuit overloaded, screaming for relief. He was trapped, and the ceiling closed up over him, blocking out all light, and he couldn't see, everything was pain—_

"**Corrupted core response overridden.**"


	18. High Five

_Author's Note: _Well, hello all! I am back with a new chapter! It's a short one, sorry about that, but I haven't had much time to work on this fic, and when I HAVE had extra time, I've been pretty drained/stressed. Most of the bad feelings aren't from school, though, school is great so far! Silver lining is I'm 5,500 words into chapter nineteen, so it shouldn't be as long a wait between now and the next update.

One other thing, I had to make a small change to the last chapter. You may remember that GLaDOS asked Blue to return to the central hub before she triggers the 'core transfer'. I made a mistake with that part, sorry—she was actually supposed to _explode _him. Small thing, but thought I'd just let you know anyway. My bad :(

**Target Acquired**

**Chapter Eighteen - High Five**

* * *

Inside of the tiny glass square, before _the boss _had even started her tense interrogation of the thoroughly damaged personality core, Chell had let her body go utterly still, watching as the Orange robot approached her, bandages and antiseptic in hand. Unknown to the woman, out in the central chamber, the omnipotent AI was experiencing a series of forced hallucinations, but Chell had eyes only for Orange. Meters below the two females, Blue waited beside a core receptacle, his metal feet shifting unsurely in nervousness while he watched for signs of consciousness from the two currently unresponsive AIs.

In the square, Orange moved her hand in small, careful strokes, cleaning. Perhaps to another's eyes, these hands would have appeared ill-shaped to perform such a delicate task, her fingers sharp and deadly-looking; but the dark-haired, blood-smeared woman only twitched occasionally, giving hardly any notice to the construct caring for her wound.

Chell lay, rather placidly within the open Aperture Science Relaxation Pod, dimly wondering where, or how, an Aperture Science Cooperative Testing robot could have learned to care for human injuries so diligently. It was one of many things on her mind, none of which Orange could understand had she known what the human was thinking: Chell was wondering where Wheatley was, how she had got here without him, and how she was going to get out. In truth, her mind was a buzzing hive of activity, though the heavy thoughts swirling around inside made her feel dazed and tired—she was in no fit state to try anything dangerous anytime soon.

The robot watched Chell as she worked. The woman appeared docile, exhausted; and for the umpteenth time since Orange had rescued her from the depths of the facility, she wondered exactly what had prompted the human to venture so far down. Her orange eye hovered over Chell's two closed ones, taking in her appearance with a soft hum, examining the thin crease of a frown above her eyebrows, the movement of darting eyes beneath her eyelids. Orange had never been in such close proximity to a human before, and though she was curious, she maintained a wary sense of fear, a fear that had been instilled upon her by the central AI's warnings. Chell was legendary, _the boss's _one true nemesis, and appropriately, the all-seeing AIhad wasted no time in informing Orange that this gentle-looking, flimsy and broken woman could be incredibly dangerous when she had the desire and the strength to be.

For now, though: Chell's breath was deep and even, her hands unmoving. Orange began to tie a set of bandages around her midriff, carefully measuring the tightness with hands so unpracticed at performing such a task. It was true that the robot had never volunteered to enter the relaxation chamber, having been so frightened by this particular human. She was just following an _order:_ to tend to her. _The boss _had instructed her on how to do it, given her a quick crash-course, and had even went as far as to show Orange an informational video, gathered from somewhere deep within the miles of information located in the DOS.

The videos had been interesting. Orange had watched these with rapt attention and, as they finished, had blinked and looked up, her optic dilating as she tried to focus on the unmoving form behind the glass. But before the robot had even the time to summon her wits, or to prepare for the task ahead, _the boss _had then stuck her inside of the square with two handfuls of gauze and antiseptic, uttering one last threat.

"_If she dies, consider yourself placed on permanent probation. Well—after you finish a few other tasks I need you to do. In fact, you might as well add the mute Lunatic's survival to the list of things I have programmed into you—from now on, she stays both alive and trapped within this facility, under _your _care and observation, unless I say otherwise. Got it?_"

She had squeaked a small 'yes, I understand' in machine clicks, though she was not sure whether _the boss _had been listening, and had proceeded through the portal with an air of fearful apprehension. The portal sealed with the usual sound, _ffffsk,_ ominously loud in such a small, quiet space.

_What now, _Orange had wondered, moving forward to try and attach the first set of bandages. Should she wake her?Was this woman—providing that she was every bit as dangerous as _the boss _had made her out to be—about to injure her, if she roused her by accident? Would she try to kill her? Sure, one advantage of her mechanical form was that she could not feel pain and could be easily rebuilt, but she did not want the human to harm herself further. She was fragile, and in her current state—she could _die._

All of this was calculated within Orange's brain at lightning-speed as she had approached Chell, wringing her hands nervously, bouncing on her heels with a spring-like noise. It would be better to non-verbally _ask _her square-chamber-companion if it would be all right for her to clean the wound _first_, and wordlessly assure her that she meant no harm…

The thought had just occurred to her when a loud announcement was triggered by her movement, '_Hello, and again welcome…_'

Orange shied away into the corner, listening to _the boss _shut off the recording and speak to the now-awake woman. If the robot had been built with a throat, she would have swallowed hard, emitting a little hum of nervousness as she watched Chell try to examine her own broken, bloody form. Orange felt a sudden foreign emotion twinge inside of her core, recognizable as 'guilt', and she twitched visibly, drawing the human's eyes for the first time.

Orange was, of course, no master at interpreting human expression. She had _seen _humans before, though it had been less than a week since she had first opened the Human Vault with the help of her partner. All she knew, or had ever guessed about humanity had been repeated in the gestures she and Blue had shared during those rare moments of success, such as the completion of a difficult test or the discovery of the Human Vault. So, as Orange observed Chell, who stared back at the robot, nonplussed, Orange gave her a single, mechanical wave—once, twice—and had blinked in astonishment when the human had repeated the gesture back confidently.

She had inched her way forward, extending her hands, still laden with bandages, in hope that the woman could put two-and-two together and guess what the robot was about to do.

Chell only barely flinched at the cold contact, and it was a while before Orange finally became used to Chell's company. The two sat and stood in an awkward silence, avoiding each other's eyes. Orange was intrigued by the woman—who was she? Why was she in the facility, and yet not kept within the testing tracks, as was protocol for all of the other humans? Why was _the boss _so intent on keeping this one alive, when _she _had not hesitated at the thought of killing thousands?

Orange's careful observance never wavered as she pondered as best she could in her robotic ways, her mind too simple to fully comprehend the actions of the central AI. She looked at Chell, whose eyes met hers. Orange's knowledge of humans may have been marginal, but even she could detect a trace of something else shining from deep within the human's eyes—not happiness, not comfort in a strict sense, but… thankfulness, perhaps? Ease? Wonder?

Her face split into a sudden, pained smile at the robot's confusion. Orange hobbled awkwardly, a soft sound playing from her speakers. It was a warble that, if Chell had been asked to translate it, it might have asked '_are you feeling better? Did that help?'_

The woman nodded slowly, letting her breath leave her in one slow, smooth motion. Her eyelids drooped, her back slid further into the Relaxation Pod. Orange's bottom eye shutter rose in an artificial smile, and she prepared to shut the Pod's lid, satisfied that the woman would be all right.

But, as soon as the robot's hand had shot for the closing mechanism—as soon as she had looked away from the woman's face, Chell had moved faster than blinking. Taken aback, and more than a little shocked, Orange twitched in fear, cringing as she assumed that the woman was about to launch herself at her, perhaps even to force the robot to break the glass surrounding the Pod and finally escape from the square—

Chell paused. Orange blinked, surprised, and then fully reopened her eye.

The human hand was up and out, fingers spread wide, and she looked at Orange with determination and an unprecedented desire to communicate.

The hand shook a little as Chell pushed it further toward the robot. Orange's eye aperture widened as she understood—she raised her own metal palm, and, eye never leaving the human's slender nose, thick, chapped lips or clear, calculating eyes, she brought her own hand down into a gentle high-five.

Chell's smile became genuine. She gave Orange a final, appreciative nod before slipping down into the Relaxation Pod with a wave.

It closed with a soft _hiss, _and the woman's eyes closed instantaneously.

Orange continued to watch the sleeping woman. It was the first time, the _only _time she had ever successfully communicated with a being, aside from _the boss _and her faithful teammate, Blue. No, there was no one besides him who she had ever _truly _connected with on such a level, and she had never shared a gesture with any but him. It felt like something she should have kept private, between just him and herself, but… despite what _the boss _had said about the human, Orange felt she quite liked her, as dangerous as she was.

She only hoped that Blue would feel the same way. After all, he _was _her teammate. Her partner. Her _everything._ She valued his opinion greatly.

And currently, Blue was absent. He was locked away, deep within the lower chamber, in-charge of watching over his _own _captive.

This prisoner was the round, blue-eyed metal ball, who didn't ever seem to want to keep quiet—it had talked during most of the journey from the depths of the old Test Shaft, all the way up into the central chamber. It was delusional and broken, Blue and Orange had quickly observed, though _the boss _did not seem to mind—in fact, she had been pleased that they had captured it in such a state. The two robots had split shortly after presenting their painstakingly-acquired treasures to _her; _Orange, entering the relaxation chamber and placing the woman carefully onto the bed, awaiting further instruction; and Blue, taking this sphere down below to a room that Orange had never seen inside.

Her optic scanned the area outside of her glass box. She could see the AI's form a little ways away, the smooth lines of her chassis rigid as she was obviously entranced by something not visible. With a small warble, Orange looked back at Chell, her optic constricted with sadness. She wished she could have done more for the woman. She twiddled her hands sadly and prepared to notify _the boss, _to inform _her_ that the job was done, that the human would live, and that she could have the robot back for testing, when—

—when _it_ happened.

The chamber lights flickered all at once and _her _form jerked with alarm, every connection suddenly taught, no longer entranced but completely aware. And there were sounds, sounds so loud that Orange squinted in alarm, frightened—a mechanical, static-filled scream, and a thrumming whirr as _she_ rose from her dormant position. _She _stretched with the motion, satisfied, awake from some improbable sleep. Her face swivelled and a burning flash of yellow-gold briefly illuminated every corner of the chamber. Finally, _she_ settled with an impressive, harsh hum of servos, facing a gigantic black monitor that had just slid forward from nowhere.

Except, the monitor's screen was no longer black, no longer displaying _her_ ominous reflection. It was full of movement, of lines of interference tracing its surface in waves—but beyond these, Orange was able to make out a fraction of the chamber, some corner of a room—and what she saw there startled her.

Two similar, blue optics. The first: belonging to a construct standing on two heavy-set, strong legs; the second: strapped tightly into a core receptacle, his eye constricted to a rolling point of pure terror.

And the latter was _screaming. _At the very top of its non-existent lungs. Electricity sparked out of his core, like a bright, shivering bubble engulfing him, hiding him behind a swirling mass of electric-blue. Orange lifted her arms in reflex, her claws scrabbling to protect her audio sensors, not that metal against metal could offer was so _loud, _so _unbearable_—

"_AAAAAAAAAAHHHH…_"

Masked partially by the incessant screaming, there was an announcement: "**Core detected in transfer bay receptacle. Scanning core… Core corruption at eighty-six percent."**

Orange could not hear it over the sphere. She cringed, confused, scrambling within the box, searching for an exit, some way _out, _to _help—_she had to, had to do _something. _The movement on the screen caught her eye, and she saw that the receptacle was smoking, the sphere's core twitching as sparks poured from him.

And she knew then, there was no way out, she was locked in this box, just as the sphere was locked into the receptacle—she froze, her mechanical joints rigid as she watched _the boss's _utterly pleased, contented form swing softly from side-to-side.

Orange's eye shutters narrowed in determination and with surprising strength the robot sprang forward and hurled itself against the non-portaled wall, its metal shoulder colliding with an ear-splitting _BANG!, _audible even over the sphere.

_Nothing. _The door remained firmly shut. Orange's optical frown deepened, but the Aperture Science Relaxation Pod caught her eye. Inside, the woman was still fast asleep.

"…_AAAAAAAHHH...HHH…HH…"_

The screams faded as a new sound was broadcasted through the monitor. The echoing _SLAM _of a mighty lever being pulled, and Orange saw a bright flash of silver. Blue removed his hand, his optic darting automatically to the camera.

_Heeeyya! _Orange waved enthusiastically. When Blue did not wave back, she sagged in defeat.

"That's enough."

AI's cold voice cut through the sphere's scattered, desperate breaths so easily, like an icy knife. "Focus, moron."

A last series of sparks shot from the sphere. The smoke cleared slowly and through it, Orange watched her partner—but Blue never gave any sign of recognition_. _He hung back, shoulders slumped behind the sphere, whose faceplate was limp and optic a rapidly flickering point, as though he was trying hard not to pass out.

Orange warbled solemnly. She hadn't guessed that the sphere would be in for such punishment—sure, she had been informed that he was a dangerous fugitive, much like the human in that way; but she hadn't anticipated- not _this_—why, he wasn't even _moving _anymore! A shock of panic coursed through her—was he- was he _dead? No_—

"I'm sorry," a strained, faded voice panted.

_He _wasn't _dead! _He wasn't dead, and he—

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry—"

_The boss_ ignored him. "_Do you want me to hurt you like that again?_"

He was not listening. "_Do you, _you worthless waste of metal? _Answer me, moron._"

More whimpering, more pleading, rapid-fire apologizing, and to who? _Her? _Somehow, Orange did not think so. He was in _pain,_ that much was clear. Would the sphere be able to survive much more of this?

He was nearly _destroyed_. Orange had seen a lot of destruction in her time, though never had she witnessed _the boss's _terrible power and cruelty firsthand. She might not have been programmed to feel pain, and neither had Blue, but _this _sphere—well, he most definitely could. He could, and what was more was that he surely wasn't made to be treated in this fashion at all; he was _delicate _in comparison with the two testing bots and had absolutely no way to defend himself. He just _wasn't designed for it—_he wasn't even designed for _testing!_

Killing turrets was one thing, but this sphere… it wasn't right. Orange hated seeing him like that—trapped, trembling on the receptacle. She listened to him, his simulated accent, _pleading_—it was _frightening, _unnatural. It went against some kind of nearly-forgotten segment of code buried deep within her, a base encryption prompting her to try to save her own kind—

She could see Blue. He looked just as fearful as she felt, but if he had any idea to try to save the sphere, he did not dare do it in front of _the boss. _

"I- I didn't mean it!" the sphere was shouting, the static-filled, gasped mess magnified a hundred times louder than it should have been, broadcasted over the central chamber's speakers, "I didn't mean what I'd said, the- the lady, she's- she's my friend! I only said all that… all that cause I thought- thought she was going to… leave…me…"

A modulated hum of astonishment sounded from Orange as she jerked at the word _friend._

The sphere… they had found him… found him right next to the human. Next to the… next to his…

She hummed the word aloud in mechanical clicks: _friend. _She looked at Chell.

_They were_ friends_. Like her and Blue—partners, teammates—destined to work together. _

_And now: their team had been torn apart. They were separated._

An unexplainable horror seized the robot at this realization._ Friends were not supposed to be separated. _It was _wrong_—everything inside of her told her so, told her that it was unacceptable, that team cooperation was a requirement; _they needed each other_. They _depended_ on one another. Programmed directives could not be fulfilled without teamwork. She leapt to the Relaxation Pod and tapped rapidly against its surface, _tap, taptap, TAP, wake up, wake UP! Your friend, he's in_ trouble!_…_

But the woman did not stir. Already the Pod had been locked into cryogenic sleep, which meant the only being now capable of waking the human was _the boss. _

And _the boss _was _not_ going to do that.

_She- she can't save him, _hummed Orange in distress. The human was injured, fast asleep. There was nothing she could do—nothing, nothing for her friend, her partner. She was dead to the world, unknowing—_what would happen when she woke up and realized that her partner was dead?_

_UNACCEPTABLE, _Orange shuddered. _I will help him. I'll help you both. Make sure- make sure you survive. Make sure you're not split up. You need to be kept safe and inside—_she _wants you alive, and nobody- no humans are to be injured outside of the testing tracks. _

Orange thought for a moment more. …Her _orders come first, but I will _try _to help your friend… he needs you…_

The unspoken promise hung heavy in her mind as she stared. At length, she turned to the portal-less door, barely hearing two AIs—there was nothing she could do, not yet. Not until the portal opened.

She slumped against the wall, bored and lonely and frightened. _Would the sphere survive?_ Or would _the boss _ultimately kill him for whatever it was that he had done wrong? Her forced solitude felt so immoral_, _even though there was a human not ten feet away from her—for a robot so used to company, so used to teamed testing, the isolation was unprocessable.

Orange shut her eye.

C-crr-CRACKKKCKK

_The entire facility was trembling, shuddering, and she staggered—_dust rained down from the ceiling, panels shivered collectively, the chassis twisted with the force—Orange looked around fearfully—

The cracking sound had been from the splintering glass as the panes fractured. Beyond, there were several loud _beeps _and more panicked whimpers from the sphere, the sound of wrenching metal and distant, quaking chambers, and then, finally, silence.

The sphere continued to whimper. "W-what was—?"

A sharp, modulated voice answered, "It is not of importance."

_Wh- what—? _Orange shuddered.

The facility had _shaken _like—

—like it had when the _other _core had been plugged into the mainframe and the reactor core… Orange remembered, but _this_—it was _not _the same thing! It couldn't be—_the boss _had saved them from that fate. That had been so_ long_ ago, so, so long, so close to her first activation. She remembered—a blue sphere, the same one, perhaps—it had been _his_ fault.

_His fault_—but Orange did not care. She was still going to help him. Everyone deserved a second chance, even the sphere, and she was going to give it to him—so long as doing so would not conflict with the directives set for her by _the boss. _

_The boss _wanted the human alive, and the sphere probably dead—but _if_ it survived, Orange would be ready. She would reunite him with the woman. She needed to—in a way, the pair _was _her and Blue. They shared a bond, a friendship—something more than just programming.

"I… _told you_…" the sphere could hardly speak. "Activated… in Test Shaft…"

_Thhk._

The soft sound made the robot jump. It came from behind—and there, upon the wall, a flash of brightest blue. A portal!

Immediately, Orange leaped out with relief, hobbling as fast as she could on her spindly legs, racing—across the central chamber, full-force, toward the monitor, and that image of the sphere—

But—

Before, before she was close enough, near enough to touch the screen, still too far away to sign to them, something happened. She was desperate to convey her message, wanting the sphere to know to _hold on, I'll find you_, _I'll find a way in_—

But a fissure was opening, a deep pit in the center of the room. It was huge, illuminated by unseen depths with a red, glowing light, like a gaping, hungry mouth. Orange couldn't move for fear.

_No._

She squeaked fearfully, unsure—should she help the sphere or the woman? The panicked sphere was twisting, writhing with a guttural, pained cry of desperation—"No. _NO!" _ Orange jerked, palms half-covering her optic, she couldn't look, she couldn't watch what was happening_—_but through her shining fingers, through them, she could see _the boss's _optic contract with delight, see the Relaxation Pod's glass retract smoothly, see the woman inside remain unaware—

A gigantic claw, raised from the pit, smashed through the broken remains of the box and scattered glass everywhere. It moved—

—_straight for the woman's neck. _Orange twitched violently, her legs frozen with fear—_she couldn't save the woman,_ she couldn't _move, _the mere thought of outright disobeying _her _was too terrifying—she wanted to, she _wanted _to, and yet—

Something else was happening.

"**Manual core replacement protocols initiated." **

The claw! It released the human, retracting away from her neck, but...

"**Alternate unit detected. Corrupted core, are you ready to start the procedure?**"

What was… 'the procedure'? Orange blinked fearfully—what did it _mean? _

_It _couldn't_ mean—_?

_The boss's _impossibly powerful, heavy form was tense and expectant, something like a mixture of contempt, pleasure and pride radiating from her all at once. She allowed a dark, malicious chuckle to ring through the chamber, every lighted dial on her chassis flushed with her satisfaction.

_What was the boss going to do? _

"NO!" the sphere cried, catching on far quicker than Orange. "ABSOLUTELY NOT! NO!"

**"Central core, would you still like to start the procedure?"**

The AI laughed sadistically. "Yes."

**"Stalemate detected. Overriding corrupted core response…"**

He was gasping, struggling, sparking, twitching, crying—Orange couldn't look at him, she couldn't—the lights dimmed and flickered, some of them sparking as the floor trembled alarmingly again. The robot staggered as the terrible claw slid back into its pit, the chamber hazy with dust that clung in the air from the deep disturbances, and finally, the pit closed sharply.

"**Corrupted core response overridden.**"

"AAAAAAHGGHDskxkbs—"

The sphere's optic flashed with the terrible cry before it disappeared, winking into complete blackness. His face fell. Horror seized Orange as the monitor burst into static; but _just _before it did, she caught a glimpse of Blue, his optic wide. He blinked once, and then exploded.

Orange staggered, reeling, away from the AI's searching golden optic, making to crouch and hide in a darkened corner. _She _was scouring the chamber for her faithful testing-bot, no longer entranced by the events unfolding on the monitor, no longer preoccupied, but dangerous, alive and vengeful. "_Where are you,_" she hummed, pleased, _glad _for the sphere's perceived demise, "I have a_ job_ for you."

The robot was _shaking_. Her joints were trembling uncontrollably. She had never witnessed _the boss _so angry, never, not even during the hardest, longest tests, unsolved—it was evident everywhere, with each twitch of a servo, the hum of a panel. Orange's own optic dashed between the yellow beam of probing light, the unconscious woman and the dead monitor. Its screen was still displaying nothing but static.

The sphere was surely dead. There was no hope for him, not anymore.

But _herself… _there was hope for Orange. _The boss… she _had a job for her.

"_There _you are." The beam of golden light fell over the trembling robot. _She _hesitated at the sight of the cowering form, humming with distaste. "You do not need to be afraid of me."

The voice had lost its terrifyingly hostile quality, taking on a gentle, placating buzz. Orange was unsure of what to make of it. Carefully, she shuffled toward the AI—

—_and then exploded._

"Not _yet_," _the boss_ chuckled at the curling wisp of smoke, amusement evident in every ice-cold octave of her modulated voice. "Not unless you _fail me_."

* * *

One last thing: I really hope that this part didn't seem odd/unsatisfying. I need to show a bit of P-Body's POV here, it's important because of stuff that happens later on. But thanks for reading! Let me know what you think O_O any pointers for P-Body POV are welcome because it's honestly not something I've written a lot of. Hah. Wheatley-focus chapter next!

WAAARGH WHAT ARE PLOT LINES I DON'T EVEN


	19. The Part Where

_Author's Note: _Italics indicate a hallucination! Last one in the story. Also, there are a lot of things I have to say about this chapter, but I will say them at the end. Hope you like it! :) orz, yes I do like writing powermad AI's… How could you tell…

**Target Acquired**

**Chapter Nineteen - The Part Where [redacted]**

* * *

"_WRRRRRRRAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH OH NO NO NO NO NO—"_

_Wheatley was screaming, his eye flickering alarmingly as ten-thousand robotic talons seized him—pinching, pulling, tugging, yanking—it was painful, so painful, everything was the feeling of clamps on wires, the sound of his vocal processor fading into that static-filled yelp, the sensations of slipping consciousness and unreality—he had no idea, no possible way of knowing what was real, what was false, or what was happening to him, it was all an interconnected mess of—_

"—_NO NO NO NO STOP NO—"_

—_Sharp. A flash of metal, a burst of blood-red light, and dimly, hazy, the reflection of his optic against the sharp talons—it was the core transfer, the core transfer all over again, with its mechanical arms tearing into his inner casing, splitting it, and simultaneously his handles were slammed backward and locked, scraping painfully against the mechanism. They were broken, _he _was broken, and he shut his eye against the motion, against the shower of sparks and jarring sense of disorientation—but there was no escape._

_He squirmed and cried and tried to tear away, pleading, positive it was his end, that there was no way out—and the lady, the _lady, _where was she? He was helpless, he'd never be able to- never be able to help her again, he'd never see her smile, and she was going to- to either die here, like he was, or she would escape without him, leave him here—_

—_and escape with _her.

_Yes. Yes—this was what _she _had wanted, it was _her _plan—abandon him here, where he _couldn't _leave, where he could do nothing but wait for the compliance impulses to seize control over him, again, and for the dreadful machine which _he _had programmed to find him, to _kill him. _Ironic, really, it was, the way he had programmed his own death. In the end, at the end of the day, the end of all things—it was entirely his fault, all his fault. _

_He struggled with static filled sobs, begging, pleading with the arms, as if shouting at them would reverse the procedure, "LET GO," he panted, trying to _turn, _to tear himself away, but he couldn't, it was impossible, "LET—LET GO OF ME! I NEED—NEED TO—"_

_Need to—_

_to—_

_He was falling…_

_His optic glitched, showing him a sudden flash of what could not be. _A room—_her, _and—_noooooo…_

_He was in the central chamber. Dizzy, dazedly, he sensed the sudden connection, the jarring contact that meant that Aperture Science was _his,_ that he was_ the boss_—he tried to push it away, willing himself to ignore the sheer rush of power, the giddiness sending him reeling, his optic looping once before coming to rest with a bounce in his shell. He was so aware, _so aware, _of _everything, _every panel, every lift, emancipation grid—it was all his._

"_Bloody…" he gasped._

_Immediately, the robotic arms ceased their tearing motions. They retracted, and the shielding panels fell away, exposing him to the comparatively still and silent central chamber_. _He shivered compulsively, shooting a single, sharp glance down to the floor, a floor that was much, much too far beneath him—he shut his eye, hating the blatant proof that he _was bloody massive_ once more, massive and powerful like how he had wanted, _craved _for so long, back when the scientists would call him useless and worthless and push him aside. He was tiny no more, he was significant, terribly strong and omnipotent—but still there was that electric current of terror, panic surges like data pulses. A primal fear. This wasn't like last time. He had no freedom, he was captive. He knew that it was over, he was stuck here, and there was nothing more he could do—_

"_Why," he choked, his voice heightened several octaves in hopelessness. "Why'd _she _do this to me."_

_But he knew the answer. He knew why _she _had done it—he was awfully aware of how he should never have tried to fix things, of how he had made everything worse by doing so. He was aware of how he had finally broken down, mere minutes ago, and told _her _everything, the truth—and none of it mattered. He was not designed to fix things. It was a language he would never understand. He was designed to screw up, to make mistakes, to do the complete opposite of fix—his terrible ideas only served to bring pain to everyone he had ever cared about._

"Sh-she _did it," he stammered to an empty chamber, his head held low to the ground in shame, "b-because I deserve it. Yeah. I bloody do. I _should _be stuck here. I didn't help her, only- only made it all worse, and now she's hurt, the- the lady's hurt, and I deserve to be stuck in here while the- while_ it_ explodes. All I bloody did was make things worse for us. Yeah. Al-although, it would be nice, maybe, if I could see the lady—once, even, just one more time." He cracked his eye open, but sagged in disappointment when his sight was met with nothing but a sullen, dimly lit and clearly empty central chamber. "Yeah. Just… one more time. Say goodbye, y'know, maybe even apologize properly… for- for being- being a bloody moron…"_

_He let silence creep in slowly, marvelling in the absolute stillness of the facility while his body trembled with the weight of his emotions. Simulated, _she _had said, but they were real, so real to him—he felt, he felt guilt and sorrow and shame and embarrassment. Internally, all of these fought against themselves, against a blind panic that at any moment now, he was going to pay the consequences for what he had done. The mainframe would find him. It would kill him. It was going to, and there was nothing, nothing he could do—but it was odd, he realized suddenly, strange that it was so quiet… shouldn't he be able to sense that mainframe? He should, and he knew it, he _should _have felt an increasing, painful corruption, much like what he had experienced while the Gel had slowly sunk into his circuitry. He felt no such thing. Instead, the corruption was fading… fading away, and his mind was… was sort of clearing… but…_

_Somewhere deep within his core he could feel something else taking hold… _

_Something bigger than his massive body, more complete than every artificial synapse connecting the hundreds of miles of panels and test chambers to him, it was stronger than him, a program with undeniable priority. It was crucial, _needed _to be fulfilled, a primal directive, an utterly hardwired itch. _

_He knew this feeling—"N-no," he gasped, his chassis staggering back and forth in panic, the hinges connecting him to the ceiling whining in protest. His pupil contracted, "No, it's not- it can't, it's not going to- to make me—I won't let it! I won't let it, I won't, I don't want to bloody listen to it! Hah! _I'm _in control. I'm in control and- and,_ I'm not going to test!"

_But if he wasn't going to—and immediately, as if_ it_ had been listening, the urge strengthened a hundredfold—if he wasn't going to… to test… what else would he do? What else could he do? He was stuck here…_

_There was nothing…_

_Testing was his… everything… his purpose... he had to… _needed _to test, _test… _got to test…_

"_But that mainframe." He hadn't forgotten. Every virtual sense was pricked for even the slightest sign of a threat, some tripped sensor, a corrupted circuit, or other tale of destruction. There was nothing. "That mainframe. Down there, in the- the Test Shaft…" he shivered. "It's more important. More important than _bloody testing is. _I should fix it… uh, no idea how to do that, now that I think of it, but, I am the one who switched it on—and 'cause, if I don't, if I don't fix it, and if it finds me, it'll take control over the facility—and I will most certainly die. _Without _ever seeing the lady again. Proper loss, that'd be, completely- _completely _unfortunate…"_

_He winced as another testing ping zinged like lightning through his new body, his brain, freezing his thought process for a moment—_oh, _he had to do something, something quick, or else it'd drive him _mad _before too long… and there weren't any test subjects left, weren't any subjects, there was no way for him to get a proper scratch…_

"_So, then—new plan," he simulated a throat clearing sound, "Absolutely no testing. Fixing… instead. The mainframe. Yeah. Just gotta concentrate… shouldn't be too difficult… ahem. Hmm… dunno where to start, though, if I'm honest… Maybe there's a password…"_

_Silence. _

"_Couldn't hurt to try," he said nervously to the empty air surrounding him. "Password… all right, not a problem… not a problem for an expert hacker like me. Okay… um. A, B, C, D, G… H."_

_NNNNNT!_

"_Oh. Fair enough. It was a long-shot, I'll admit that, I'll admit it… how about… nice and simple… A, A, A, A, A, A."_

_NNNNNT!_

"_Rrrrrgh! A, A, A, A, A… B?"_

_NNNNNT!_

_Swivelling in anger, he growled again, his eye finally coming to rest on the spherical floor plate hiding the lift from view. "It's not working!" he shouted at it. "It's not bloody working, and I'm out of ideas! I haven't got a clue how to fix this thing! What am I supposed to do? What am I bloody supposed to do! I mean, if _she _couldn't stop it," he shouted, his frustration mounting as yet another compliance protocol sent a shivering, tickling shock through him, "then obviously it's more than a little difficult! If not bloody impossible!…"_

_He trailed off, his simulated breathing quickened. "What now," he said softly, addressing the floor panel. "I'm going to- going to die here if I don't stop—but how can I fix it, when…" he grumbled, his eye shutting as that_ itch _trickled through him, "It's getting stronger… I need- need her help, the lady… _We have to get out of here_…"_

"_Hey! Moron!"_

"_Oh," Wheatley replied to the tinny, modulated voice without surprise, almost as if he had expected _her _presence all along. "_You. _Can't say I'm pleased to hear from you."_

"_And you think I'm happy to listen to _you? _Raise the lift already, will you, we've been stuck down here for hours and the facility is self-destructing! We're all going to explode if you don't let us out!"_

_He blinked in confusion, swivelling around with a bounce to try to find the source of the voice. "Where are you?" he said dopily._

"_In here! Now let us out! The escape lift!"_

_With a single, effortless command, Wheatley raised the lift. Inside, a dirt-stained, tired-looking, sullen woman lurked in faded orange-and-white, and in her hand she held a portal device. A potato battery was perched on the end of one of the device's sharp-looking prongs, and while _she _spoke, a single glowing yellow optic flickered in time with her speech._

"_Finally! I thought we were going to have to–"_

_But the rest of _her _sentence was drowned out by Wheatley's sudden, triumphant laugh. "It's _you!"_ he chortled enthusiastically,_ _his optic pulling into a smile, _"_Oh, this is _brilliant! _How are you, huh, how are you, mate? How're you doing? You're all right? All healed, then? Feeling better? You look better, bloody impressive, I must say, you're made of some tough stuff, tougher than even me, if I'm honest…" he sank lower toward her and bounced on the spot, unable to keep still, "But… _Oh! _Does this mean we're escaping, then? Are we going along with _the plan_, just you and I, daredevils, a team with real grit, just like old times—old friends—friendly escape partners, and not enemies, not enemies, although- although it is a bit of a problem, isn't it, me being attached to this bloody thing…"_

"_How _touching."

_Wheatley spluttered to a halt, his optic narrowing automatically as he focused on _her _instead of the lady. "Ahh… what?"_

"_I said, how touching. After _everything _you've done to her—dropping her down a pit, taking her down there again and almost killing her, betraying her so that you could have your time with my mainframe—and it's still mine, by the way—you think she'd forgive you. You think she'd still count you as her… friend."_

"_I…" Wheatley backed away from the escape lift, blinking repeatedly as he did so. He spun higher into the ceiling, away from _her_, "I didn't mean to—she doesn't- she doesn't hate me, she… she forgave me… she…"_

_But the lady had never outright told him she had forgiven him. There had been times—yes, he remembered now—where she had stared at him with something similar to outright dislike, something like exasperation and distain radiating from her crystal eyes. Whenever he'd make an accidentally selfish comment, or showed signs of reverting back to his old ways—she gave him _that look. _Sure, he had learned to suppress that part of him, he had learned to coax his speech synthesizer to praise her, tell her he favored her above anyone else, even himself—and when he said those things, she glowed, and it was marvellous, it was all worth it when her eyes would go all clear and wonderful like that and her shoulders would relax and she'd sigh softly. But it didn't change that sometimes she'd lose that calm demeanour completely, like when he screwed up (and he always did, in the end), and her jawline would become hard and her eyes unfocused and—angry. Stormy, frightening. No… the lady did not fully forgive him. _

"…_she… didn't forgive me. Did she…"_

"_She hates you."_

_Wheatley turned fully away from the escape lift, arching high into the ceiling. "Sh-she—did she say—? I mean, obviously she didn't _say _anything, but why would you—why would you say she _hates _me? What bloody proof have you got for that! NOTHING! Can't bloody prove that… wh- why would she follow me, then, why would she let me try to help- if she _hated me the WHOLE TIME? Huh?"

"_She told me. She hates you—and the only reason she ever went along with your asinine plan was because otherwise, I would have killed you. The mute Lunatic had grown sympathetic to your… faults, but now, she has seen the error of her ways and fully admits that trusting you was a fatal mistake. Rest assured that she will not do so again. Besides—she's right. She _should _hate you. _Shouldn't she_."_

_Wheatley turned forcefully back to the escape lift. "No. NO!" he yelled at the two in the elevator, the woman and the potato, his voice breaking—"You're LYING! You're _lying—_SHE. DOES. NOT. HATE. ME! She DOESN'T—it's YOU she hates! She was—_WE _were trying to escape, so that _you _didn't kill US!"_

"_Ironic, considering you're the reason we're all about to die if we don't get out of here."_

_He shut his eye, unable to look at the two. He wanted to punish _her, _to make her pay for what she had just said, to take her pathetically tiny potato-body and _smush_ it with his gigantic claws—it would be easy, so easy to do it, but he couldn't, something inside him had frozen, broken at the suggestion that the lady _hated _him. _Her _words were like poison, lies, _lies, _they had to be lies, but at the same time he knew _she _must be right. "I'M NOT LISTENING! Not listening," he cried out loudly, "I don't have to listen to a bloody word you say! You're not in charge here, you're nothing but a pathetic little potato-brain—_I _tried to save her life, you didn't do that, you didn't even try—don't listen to her, luv, she's LYING…"_

_The potato laughed quietly, a smug, victorious sound that cut through Wheatley's barely-existing confidence like a knife, shattering him—"Ultimately," _she _said, "What good did trying to save her do? You should have just left her to me. At least in my tests, she had a chance of survival. Well, I do suppose you deserve some credit—after all, if it hadn't been for you, you little idiot, I would still be trapped within an endless cycle of quick-saves, but you woke me up—thanks for that, by the way. And now, you are going to bear the full responsibility for all of the mistakes you have made—and the mute Lunatic and I are going to watch. From the surface. While you remain helplessly trapped, and whatever it was you thought you were activating is going to come and find you." _

_The pit beneath the chassis opened as Wheatley screamed in frustration, livid, "RRRRGH! NO!" the claw smashed, hard, into the lift and inside, briefly, he saw a fleeting look of sheer terror pass over the lady's face as the glass broke, but he didn't have the mental capacity to _care_, all he cared about was the potato and _her _yellow optic, still attached to the end of the gun. He _hated her. _"You aren't going ANYWHERE!" He screamed desperately, and through the splintered glass, he saw _her _optic flicker as _she _laughed again. _

"_And you're going to try to stop us?"_

"_YOU HEAR ME? _NOWHERE! _YOU—ARE NOT—GOING TO LEAVE ME HERE! Y'know what—_new plan_. New plan… I've had enough of this. I'M the boss, and if I say you're staying, you're going to bloody DO AS I SAY!" He paused, breathing heavily, his core flared out like an ugly, gigantic fish, his optic a deep, dangerous point of light as it shifted, ever so slowly, from the potato, to focus on the mute Lunatic's face. "And I say," he whispered, his voice so low, but he knew the lady caught every word from the way her pupils contracted, the way her breath quickened and how she took a staggering step backward—wonderful, that was—"You… are going to _test."

_The lift lowered slowly, sunk through the floor into the depths of the facility. Wheatley watched it go, watched the look of utter shock and confusion on the lady's face, his optic pulling up into a self-satisfied smile. Yes—she was going to test, and everything would be juuuust… fiiine._

_Except, he could still hear _her _voice over the facility's sensors, and he knew that _she _wasn't talking to the lady. _She _was talking to _him.

"_You are pathetic."_

"_Shut up."_

"_You can't even resist the barest whims of _my _body for long enough to even attempt to fix the damage you have already inflicted upon it. You are a _moron_…"_

"_I SAID, SHUT UP! I AM NOT! I AM _NOT _A MORON!"_

"…_and a slave to the…"_

"_I forbid you to say another word! I forbid you to do it!"_

"_Itch."_

"_HNNNNGH!" Wheatley yelled as he felt the ever-increasing awareness of the itch. "J-just… just test. Test. In silence. Absolute SILENCE." The lift, it wasn't going fast enough, it was taking _too long, _he couldn't wait—not when _her _voice was in his head, too, distracting him, oh bloody hell, he couldn't _focus _on _anything—

_Had he thought he just… wouldn't _test? _He had thought wrong—testing was the best, the _only _thing to do, and he was going to—_

_DING_

_The elevator arrived, the lift doors swept open, and effortlessly, he commanded two panels to slide back to expose a monitor—"Test. NOW," he growled, staring down at the doorway. The two subjects entered the chamber, the lady glancing around with an air of dim surprise, her footfalls unsure and unconfident. Wheatley swelled with pride—this was a curveball, something they had not expected. Brilliant, really, it was, forcing them to test—a subtle way to guarantee that they would not leave him here, alone, and the _potato _would not take the lady away from him—also, of course, he'd be able to satisfy the demands of the itch._

"—_when he's not looking," he heard _her _voice._

"_What was that?" he asked sharply. _

"_Nothing."_

"_Oh, yes. Nothing. Exactly—what you are doing right now. Contrary to what you should be doing. Which is testing." He leaned closer toward the monitor, his eye taking up the entire screen, and down below, within the chamber, the lady took two frightened steps back, tripping a little as the metal heels of her boots came in contact with the side of a glowing button. Suddenly, Wheatley was very aware of how imposing he must look to her—and he found he rather liked it a lot. He saw the sweat beading on her face and neck, the look of unease, of helplessness and fear. She was _his _test subject, she _should _be afraid, and he could test her all he wanted, he could _kill _her, even, if he felt like it—if he wanted to._

"_WELL!" He shouted suddenly, making the lady jump, "On with the test!"_

"—_better do what he says—"_

_He watched the lady navigate his impossible, dynamite test—absolutely brilliant—he chuckled at the look of alarm on her face as she glided over a bottomless pit via a- funnel-thing (he was never exactly sure of what to call them), trying his best to ignore the ever-increasing itch, seeking solace in the fact that in a few minutes, no—not a few minutes, a few _seconds, _it would be all over, and he could _think_—_

"—_when you press it—"_

_Then, he'd find a way to get out—_

"—_run as fast as you can—"_

_Preferably with his test subject in tow. That'd show _her, _if, despite _her_ best attempts to keep him here, as a prisoner, a slave to the itch, destined to die by his own mistakes, it'd show _her _if he and the lady escaped. It was a plan, a brilliant trap, and _she'd _be stuck here, and _he'd _escape, and the lady—_

_She was so, so close to solving—_

"—_I'm going to override—"_

_He shut his eye—_

_She hit the button—dimly, he knew she must have, but his consciousness was suddenly so thin, it was hard to tell anything—but that wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to feel as though he might faint, or go offline, it wasn't right, something was wrong—"I… What… what was…?" he gasped, hardly aware that the woman in the chamber had stopped a foot from the exit, looking back at his monitor with a look of sheer confusion. He shook himself, and spoke again, his voice pitched an octave or two higher, when it should have been- it should have been… lower… and he should have… but it didn't… the solving didn't work… "I don't- don't know what you two think you're playing at, but… ohhh… ohdear. I… think something is wrong… what's happening… I'm not feeling… Are you sure you solved that… correctly…"_

_And as he said it, he realized, with a wave of terror, that _she _must have done this_—_it wasn't the test—it wasn't the way they solved it. It wasn't even the_ itch—

"_WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME, I KNOW _YOU'RE _BLOODY DOING THIS," he screamed, his voice stuttering in panic as his vision _blacked out _momentarily, "WHAT—"_

_But he couldn't speak—all of a sudden, he couldn't _speak, _he couldn't _move, _all he could do was blink and panic and watch as the testing chamber swam before his eye, eventually fading into darkness. He tried to scream, to demand the potato to tell him what she'd _done, _to ask why this was _happening _to him, but he couldn't—what was wrong? Had it happened when she'd solved it? When they lady had hit the button, yes… But it couldn't be—no- NO- wait. He knew what it was, he knew—it was the prototype, that _mainframe, _it had finally gotten—_

_gotten him—_

_he was falling—_

_Ohhhhhhhhh…_

He was so disorientated. He couldn't see. He couldn't feel where he _was—_the chassis, so real not two seconds ago, with its immeasurable amount of data, its test compliance protocols, its _power—_was gone. All he had was a world of blackness, of _silence—_he could not hear himself speak. It was _terrifying._

And then—as if a series of bright lights had clicked on, though he still could not see—he could _feel. _He could feel his body, but it was different, strange, not like how it usually felt, and not like how the chassis felt, and not like how he felt when he was broken or damaged or corrupt—no. If, in the future, the lady had asked, if anyone had inquired him to recount how he had felt during those moments, he would have told them, sorry, there wasn't any words in his database to describe it, save for _awareness. _

It was _cold. _Colder than the cold he had felt as the lady had hung onto him on the edge of space, of oblivion—colder than his insides had turned when the lady had been shot—colder than anything in living memory. He was very _aware _that he was being pressed up against these cold surfaces in a way that meant they had to be partially enveloped around him—or he had to be enveloped around them—but none of that made any sense to him.

"Welcome back_._"

He shuddered. He felt his body jerk involuntarily as the shock of pure fear raced through his circuitry. It was _her. _

_What did you bloody do to me, _he wanted to demand. He wanted to scream at her, to cry, to know what had happened, and _why—_where he was, what he was doing here, where the lady was—was she safe? It was all a mess, a mess he couldn't detangle, memories and not-quite-memories intertwined in a mass of uncertainty and paranoia. _What did you do, I know you did this to me, I'm not stupid, not a _moron! _I bloody know you did this… when you… when you… the core… transfer… _Wait.

Something inside him clicked. His vision switched on, and the chamber slowly came into view. It was _so _hard to focus—he tried to readjust his optic sensor, so that he could _see _properly, but nothing happened. _Must be damaged, _he thought—and then he remembered his current state. He _should _have beenbroken still, with that Gel making his optic glitch, his plates stick and his circuitry spark—but it wasn't right, either. There was no pain. There wasn't any friction when he tried to move, everything was as smooth as if he had just been lubricated, and there wasn't even the itch.

There was nothing.

"Can you hear me, moron?"

_Yes…_ the words wouldn't come… _yes, I can hear you. _Nothing. What was _wrong _with him? He tried to _move, _do _something _to answer her question, wave a handle, twitch his face—he could move, but he was not quite sure what exactly it was he was moving. Desperately, he struggled to nod his faceplate… he couldn't feel it, he didn't hear his shifting gears and that was worrisome, _why couldn't he hear himself move? _but his vision dipped to the floor and back to _her_. It was enough.

"Good. Listen carefully."

The AI spoke more gently than she had in a long while, he noticed vaguely. It was ominous. Frightening. It probably meant extremely bad news for him, but he couldn't bring himself to care, just now. He was too worried, too worked up about his absent- absent mechanics, or at least absent mechanical _sounds. _What did it mean? He nodded again, mostly for his own reassurance, to test that he was not hallucinating, that his gears were really, truly either silent, or… completely gone. And that was _not _a comforting thought.

The AI fixed him with her fierce stare. The golden light had an unreal quality, almost too clear to be true despite the screen—and he realized, with yet another shock of nerves, that his double-vision was gone. His optic was mended—and he could see, now, see clearer than he could since _she _had crushed him and broken his eye.

_She _didn't move except to tilt her faceplate, as if curious, watching him ever so closely. "The mute Lunatic is still alive. She is resting, and her wounds have proven healable. She will live."

Wheatley raised his eye in disbelief. _She is… _he wanted to say, _she's all right?—Really? She's actually okay?_

"Yes, _really,_" _she _said, extremely bored. "Of course, I will not allow you to contact her. You do not deserve to ever see her alive again, moron, don't you agree? You almost _killed _her, and you _lied to me_. All you had to do was tell me that you led your _accomplice _down to that old prototype chassis and tell me where it is, but you did not. Luckily, I have old records with details about the chassis in question—and the cooperative testing initiative are already on their way there. While we're waiting for them to find it and bring your mysterious _friend_ back to me, you're going to find out what happens to _test subjects _who lie within the Enrichment Center_._"

He felt his entire body twist in fear. _Spark, twitch—_only without the sparks, but the heavy, cold feeling radiating from deep in his core strengthened as he realized—he had never felt so- so _helpless… _he couldn't even begin to think about the lady, or consider trying to save her. He didn't have the mental strength to worry about what would happen when _she did_ find the prototype chassis and disable it, or what would happen once _her _mind was clear enough to fully consider what he had done to the facility, what he had done—the damage he had caused, with- with the help of the lady…

He was starting to think—and it felt strange, so utterly, entirely foreign, after believing for _so long_ that he was about to die—he was starting to think that _she _wouldn't kill him, after all. Maybe death was too easy—_she _would want him to suffer. It was a passing sensation, more than an outright belief, and he clung to the hope that it _wouldn't _happen, and that _she _could forgive. Wheatley willed himself to look _her _in theeye, silently asking, pleading for _her _to explain what _she _was planning, needing to know what was going to happen to him—

Their eyes connected, and instantaneously—he knew he was _right._

_She _wouldn't kill him. It was too easy, and he didn't know what _she _might do with him instead. Probably nothing good, if he was honest with himself.

He felt himself twitch violently and _her_ optic contracted in sudden amusement, and her icy laugh rang through the chamber, so piercing, so cold. "No," she said at length, answering his unasked questions as if she could read his mind, "I am not going to torture you or murder you. I have a much _better _idea than that. After all… I have plenty of time to waste on you while Blue and Orange search through the facility and undo all of your _hard _work, _don't I?"_

The AI's faceplate lowered toward him_—_her stare unwavering, unblinking. A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the distant sounds of machinery, and a low rumble originating from somewhere very deep within the facility. Wheatley shook again, wondering—_did she really know about the prototype? Would she be able to fix it, shut it down? _He had told _her_ all the information she had needed, and yet,_ she_ assumed he had lied. So how _could _she know the truth? It was a sliver, a small sliver of hope, that maybe, _just maybe, she _was wrong, somehow. Never before had Wheatley witnessed _her _make an oversight, save with the lady, but with _him—_was it possible that the all-powerful AI had not guessed correctly at his plans?

What was he talking about—_she _had caught him! She had caught him and the lady, and _her _servants had taken them both back up to _her _lair. It was _over. _

"There is something I do not understand," Wheatley's scrambled, desperate thoughts vanished at the sound of _her _speech, "though it is undeniably accurate that I will never fully know how your comically small brain works, and I don't want to. Why would I? I'd have to lose about two-hundred-and-twenty-nine-point-three IQ points and reduce clocking rate by ninety-nine-point-six percent to comprehend all of your idiotic actions and why you do the things you do. Because you see, I may have the mental capacity to push past even your stupidest attempts to distract me from my work, but even I cannot fathom what truly makes you…" her faceplate tilted further as she considered him, "Tick. You could say, that this entire procedure is an experiment—you should be proud, you know. Finally, you have a chance to make up for all the time and energy you have wasted on pointlessly sad ideas such as trying to kill me—and now we'll both get to see how you work."

She paused. Wheatley was shaking, now, visibly shivering uncontrollably, still unable to make a sound—_what's she going to do what's she going to do to me—_it sounded as though she wanted to dismantle him, or worse—

The AI watched him for a moment longer, before turning sharply to the side, her black optical frame contracting into a frown. "You are too unpredictable to be allowed to roam freely within this facility, moron—interfacing with areas deemed unsafe and hazardous, engaging with machinery best left alone, _'hacking' _wirelessly," she laughed sacrastically, "which is why I have implemented this…_ fail… safe _and incompatibilities to make sure that you never, _ever _touch _my mainframe again. _And once I find whoever it is who you have _corrupted _into trying to override the reassembly machines, rest assured that _I will kill them_. Horribly."

He wanted so badly to make a sound—to make _any _sort of noise, but he could not _do it_—

"You need to try harder."

He could almost feel the pressure of verbal directives pilling up—he tried to concentrate, to clear his mind. There had to be an easy explanation, something he had missed. He let himself power down, just a little, and automatically he felt something slide into place—he was still twitchy, he was still cold and unsteady and disoriented and his memory was skewed and everything felt fuzzy—but there was a deep _buzz _from his vocal processor. "Shhhkkk…"

"Not quite."

"Ehhhhh…" he shook himself, ignoring the wave of mild vertigo and the blurring of his vision. The dizziness subsided, and he tried again. "Eehhhrr… Whh…rrrr…mm'I…"

"Oh, _good_," _she _sounded—_pleased? _Wheatley couldn't understand. None of it made any sense to him—if she had been the one who had ruined his voice, why was she _pleased _that it was back online? "That's still working. I was wondering if something had gone wrong during the core transfer."

"Uhhhnnnff…" he groaned miserably at the memory. _The core transfer. _Yes… there had been a core transfer… that was the last thing he could remember, before- before he had taken control of the facility. But that part had a dreamlike quality, an almost fuzzy, bright halo, and he knew immediately that those memories were false, probably a result of his malfunctions or whatever other procedure _she _had put him through—"Wh… what'd'y'do to m-me…"

For the first time since he had come 'round, he saw a trace of pure irritation pass across the AI's normally unreadable faceplate. "I didn't do anything," she growled, her voice suddenly low, dangerous, "Except _fix you. _If I had known how ungrateful you would be, I wouldn't have bothered. Honestly, I'm still not exactly sure why I did it."

"**Caroline Deleted"**

"**Caroline Deleted"**

"**Error"**

"Wh-what was that?" Wheatley stammered, searching around for the source of the voice—the AI on the screen barely flinched. "A-and, I… why didn't you… t-the core transfer…it didn't… happen…"

"It does not matter. What matters now is that you're here, with me. Alive." She observed him for a moment. "And a central core transfer isn't the only type of core transfer I can perform."

There was the sound of moving mechanical parts—closer, this time, than before—and Wheatley felt a series of panels and clamps around him shift. Was that the core receptacle, there, behind him, moving? Suddenly, he became very, very aware of exactly what sort of a position he must be in—something had his face tethered, so his range of motion was limited—all he could do was shake or nod. But he could feel, all around him, clamps, of some sort, like the core receptacle's handle restraints, but stronger, _heavier._

And they didn't just have his handles tethered—in fact, he could no longer even _feel _his handles, he tried to move them, and something to his side jerked—was that supposed to happen? The bloody receptacle had his entire body _pinned—_he couldn't move an _inch—_

"Sorry about the restraints," _she _hummed coolly. "It's all protocol. You see, this procedure was integrated into the mainframe long before I even existed—well, you could say that it was integrated _because _I exist. I've never ran it before—and, let's be honest, I had no idea how it might _actually _work, but the results were _highly informative. _It saved your life, and now I'm onto all your little tricks, Intelligence Dampening… Sphere—so there's nothing to keep us from testing, for the rest of your life."

Wheatley spluttered audibly at the word _testing_—test? He- _no—_how could _she_—he didn't understand! He wasn't built for testing, they had _tried _it, with the lady, back in the chamber with the rat-den oh so long ago! "Ahghrhhhm," he coughed, uncomfortably conscious of just how much the choking shook his body, every bit of him, from his core to the edge of his—"Erm. Uh, listen, that- that all sounds, um, rather marvelous, absolutely tremendous, if I'm honest, good old testing—but I- uh, I'm a little- I'm not feeling- I might drop dead, actually, y'never know, I'm not sure if testing is a good ide—"

"I am aware of the risks that accompanied the procedure we have just completed," _she _said harshly, and Wheatley stammered into silence. "But my records show your cognitive function is _higher _than what it was before. Science has now validated that forcing a simple, idiotic personality core into a brain damaged, organic body suspended in cryosleep is possible—and very effective."

_What_

_No_

He didn't—

He couldn't understand, what—

He was suddenly so afraid… _she _meant… the transfer… understanding blazed inside of him. He didn't want to face the truth… he shut his optic—but immediately he was aware of how _organic _it felt, the _smoothness _of the motion_—_no machine, no mechanics had ever felt like that, not his, not the mainframe's, certainly not _her _body—there was _nothing _else like it. "D-did y…" he stuttered, every syllable laced with panic, alarm bells blaring inside his hull—no, his _skull, _making him unable to process—_no, that was _wrong, _he couldn't _think, processing wasn't a part of—"Wh- what did'y- _what've you done to me?_"

_She _didn't answer. _She _knew he knew. There was no mistaking the look of sheer terror upon the fleshy, pallid face. There was no denying the beads of sweat, the trembling—he _hated _speaking, _hated _the way it made his throat—_his throat—_buzz, it tickled in the most horrible way, and the beat of his heart, yes, he could feel it. Distantly, he was aware of a memory, one that felt like it was from another lifetime ago—the lady's chest, pressed close against his closed eye shutter as he slept, her heartbeat beating through him in a rhythm only matching his internal cycling of his CPU.

_What would the lady say? _She'd never recognize him. She wouldn't know him anymore. He didn't even know himself.

"Tell me, moron," _she_ spoke finally, ripping him from his paranoia, and he felt a wave of pure panic shoot through every synapse, so much more paralyzing, so much more _real _than it had been mere minutes before the transfer—and the cold things around him, the restraints binding him to the- the receptacle, or the wall, he didn't know anymore, he couldn't see them—disengaged.

_CLUNK._

"_Aaaaaaahgggggghhhh!"_

_WHAAAM._

He slammed, hard, into the ground, and he felt something in the front of his face shatter—it wasn't his optic, it wasn't his handles, for those were gone—he screamed loudly, his eyes watering unpleasantly because of the _pain—_

And her voice:

"Does it…_ hurt?_"

His only response was a whimper.

* * *

_Author's Note: _All right. And now you all know what GLaDOS was *really* doing to Wheatley, and the reason this author's note is going here is because, *you guessed it*, I wish to further explain why I have chosen to go in this direction.

Why am I humanizing Wheatley? Truth is, human-Wheatley is not really something I enjoy anywhere near as much as Wheatley in core form. He's much more endearing to me that way, but I am not writing this fic based on 'what I love most about Wheatley', instead I am writing 'what is great about everything PORTAL and expand on all of it'. And to take the other characters where I want to take them, it's necessary, so I have planned to humanize him since I first outlined this fic. Writing a human!Wheatley is a foreign concept to me, so if you have any pointers feel free to let me know. Technically, he's not fully "human"—he's still a personality core, just… integrated. Into a human body. Because his old one is very, thoroughly broken, and he _would _have died if he hadn't been transferred. Last thing I have to say on the subject of Wheatley is that Wheatley and Chell's relationship is never going to be more than friends in this fic, sorry.

I haven't mentioned this before, and I'm not sure how apparent it is while reading, but I've put a lot of thought into writing this fic and understanding how all characters might react to the situations I've *put them through*. As for plot, I'm trying to keep future events largely a mystery for now, but I hope that soon enough everything will come together—it does in my plans, at least.


	20. Undiscouraged

_Author's Note: _It's been a while. Sorry about that. This part is going in a little bit of a different direction, but I felt like the story needed a cheerful break… I've tried to make it a little funny in places, even if it's just situational humor! Hope you enjoy it.

Also - you may have noticed I changed the "cover art" for this story. New image by Babycharmander, thank you friend it is amazing! A few other people have also drawn some things for this story, you can find links to them all at stillalivedoingscience dot tumblr dot com slash target hyphen acquired. :)

**Target Acquired, Chapter Twenty—Undiscouraged**

* * *

The uncomfortable thing about being violently disassembled was the sensation always it left her with afterward. Sometimes it faded quickly, sometimes slowly, sometimes it even lasted the duration of the entire next test, but often she only suffered for a few minutes at most. It was a mutual feeling, one which her partner—Blue—shared with her. They never _spoke _about it while conversing in mechanical clicks incomprehensible to anyone aside from each other, but she'd seen visual representations of it in his eye, seen a vague hiccup in the way he walked, or even just in the general way he'd solve the tests.

The sensation was an uncomfortable, grinding disorientation of the sort a robot should not technically feel, perhaps only rivaling what she might have felt had she fallen the entire, vertical length of the facility without proper landing gear and had smashed, hard, upon the stone bottom.

It was—as a human may have called it—a massive migraine.

'_Hello',_ she mumbled quietly to Blue, wincing.

Orange stepped away from the pneumatic tube she had been dispensed from and looked around for him after hearing no immediate answer. There he was, about three meters away, crossing the threshold into yet another familiar chamber—the central hub. As she watched he looked backward suddenly, discovering that she was not with him.

He waved at her, gave her a slight nod and a frown. _'Come on! We're wasting time.' _

Evidently, Blue had been spared the sensation of improper disassembly-concussion this time around.

With a mechanical squawk, Orange followed him out into the hub, stretching her limbs, taking a careful inventory of which joints were bone-dry and stiff and which felt properly loose and lubricated. Her arms seemed to be working all right; she raised her yellow-striped gun with ease and fired against a dark, oddly-shiny cracked wall, creating a starburst explosion of bright-yellow; it faded, leaving the antechamber just as dark as ever.

Her legs, though, were a problem. Her high hip joints complained more than ever with each step, playing out a rhythm of _squeak squeak, screech, squeak, _at which Blue stared, nonplussed.

'_What's wrong with you?' _he asked, his normally-undecipherable voice decoded into a masculine, rippling growl. Blue was tough; from his wide, strong stature right down to the smooth, rumbling quality of his speech, he was surely the most masculine of the two.

'_Just feeling woozy', _Orange replied in her own high-pitched voice.

Blue growled at her in exasperation and linked arms with her. _'Come on, Pinhead,' _he said affectionately. He gave a quick bop to the top of her left shoulderblade at the nickname. _'You'll be all right.'_

Her optic pulled up into an involuntary smile and she gripped him back, arm apparatus straining against arm apparatus as they walked in synchronized steps. The central hub was bright. The usual assortment of areal faith plates, hard light bridges, and buttons gleamed at them from high ledges and entrances to previously completed test courses.

Immediately, Orange sensed that something was different. Something was _wrong_.

It was not the fact that _She _had not yet welcomed them over the chamber's intercom. It was not that the room was exactly the same as it had been when Orange had last left it. She briefly recalled the circumstances under which she had departed—her and Blue had been instructed to track the human woman and her sphere accomplice, capture them, and bring them back to _Her._

It was not even because of her squeaking joints and sub-par lubrication, as uncomfortable as that was.

_Where was the next course, _she wondered distantly, trying to focus on the task at hand. Maybe if she just ignored the feeling of unsteadiness and jumpiness coming from inside, it would fade away.

'_There's no new course entrance', _she murmured quietly to Blue.

His response was to crouch, dragging her down to his level by use of her arm, still linked with his. She followed his line of sight (helped along with an integrated cognitive connection they both shared, their _ping _tool) over to a small, cramped segment of the hub nearly hidden behind crisscrossing girders, containing exactly two glowing supercolliding buttons.

'_There's the entrance, over there', _Blue clicked up at her. She trilled wordlessly in response.

Orange felt jittery; shaky, even, as though she had partially forgotten about something, something important. Her iris locked onto the two matching supercolliding buttons only for a moment before Blue stepped into her line of sight. His azure pupil contracted, and she felt the vibrations of his voice through their arm connection, _'What is it?'_

'_It's…_'

She wanted to tell her testing partner that it was _nothing. _Nothing was wrong with her! She wanted the only mental nag of an unfinished task to be the looming, unsolved testing track, but it was not. She stared at his blue iris, wondering, thinking… what would Blue say? She had not mentioned the events that had unfolded in _Her _chamber to him. Not yet.

'_What is it?' _he asked her again, more persistently this time. Blue's eye flicked once, twice, over to the two buttons, and then settled back on his partner with ever-increasing urgency. '_The test is waiting!_'

Orange hesitated before responding. _'Do you… Do you remember that personality core?'_

'_You mean the broken one?' _Blue replied, his optical plate coming down into a frown.

'_Yes… And the woman? The test subject who we captured for _Her?_'_

Blue's frown deepened as he detangled his arm from his partner's, gazing at her in disbelief. _'Yes. What about them?'_

Orange fiddled with a loose cord at the side of her thigh before answering. _'What did… She do with them?'_

'_I don't know,_' Blue growled impatiently._ 'A core transfer. Like a reassembly, I think.'_

He shook his sphere back and forth in disapproval once, and then sprang away from her, portal gun held high. He took long, running leaps and fired a portal with perfect precision and automatic ease, hitting an unseen area within the button room with a bolt of blue. He fired again without flinching, jogging all the while, and a floor panel ahead exploded with a dazzling display of purple, streaming light. He fell through this, calling out, his voice barely audible over the springing whine of leg servos and pistons, _'Come on! I'm waiting for you!'_

Orange couldn't move.

A core transfer—that declaration had been the last thing she too had heard from the announcement system. If Blue was right, and if a core transfer really was analogous to a reassembly, then there was a chance that the other blue sphere was still alive—and still separated from his partner.

'_Wait!_' Orange called in panic. With a sudden frenzy of movement, she vaulted through Blue's open portals. For a second, her world dissolved into a whirl of blue, red and purple until finally she landed with an automatic _bleep, _dead-center of a supercolliding button. She simulated vague panting noises and a high-pitched, panicked shriek, '_That means the sphere is still alive!_'

Blue froze, standing slightly to the left of his own button, staring at her. '_Still alive?_'

It was true that Blue had never valued living things as much as she did; such had been evident since their first journey to rescue the humans from the vault. He was not a monster, not un-empathetic, and did enjoy the prospect of rescuing living things, but when it had come down to—as _the boss _had put it, "rescuing the girl"—he was every bit as apprehensive as Orange had been when they had come across that black, winged projectile sort of creature long ago.

Despite Blue's feelings toward living things, artificially alive or not, Orange knew he _did _care. Only rarely did he let that side of himself show through but when he did, Orange felt some unseen part of her personality core twinge with a sensation that could only be described as electricity. It was not much different than the electric surge of muted congratulations she'd get after completing each test course, except that was pre-determined and regular. This was something different entirely.

Orange was glad that Blue was with her. She was _always _glad for his presence and friendship. She wound her metal fingers tightly into his, watching his pupil dilate back into solid blue relaxation with satisfaction. He was her everything, and nothing would ever change that. They had spent too many tests together, aiding each other no matter what—Blue had a knack for missing the smallest things, and Orange just didn't have the heart to kill the turrets. Despite what _She _had said about killing them being natural and unavoidable, it just didn't feel right to her.

She was a bit of a marshmallow in that way—miles away from a killing machine, her demeanour was as warm as Blue was calm. Often, when _She _was around, Orange would work hard to hide the side of her that felt oddly affectionate toward even the pale, spherical things designed to kill them (or, moreover, the personality core and his human friend), for if _She _had ever found out about it, Orange knew that there would be a heavy price to pay.

'_I'm going to help the woman and the sphere find each other again,_' Orange purred with a final, determined nod, her fingers still interlocked with Blue's.

Blue growled questioningly up at her. _'Why? What about the test?_'

'_Testing track first…_' she clicked. '_Then we find them._'

There was no question that Blue would come with her. They were a team, for better or for worse, and had been programmed as such.

Blue nodded resolutely. _'And then we find them._'

It was decided. _She _needed them to complete this brand new track, and so they would do the work assigned to them. Afterward, it would be _their_ turn to create their _own _testing track for a change. _She _had led them outside of their world and into the abyss of the Laboratories beyond many times now, into that complex and interesting space—full of mystery, peril and adventure—and it was no longer as distant or forbidden as it had once been.

And anyway, Orange personally felt that it was about time they found a purpose besides testing.

With a resigned growl, Blue stepped onto his own button, _bleep. _There was a split second in which the two bots made eye contact before they were both swallowed up with a great _rush _by gigantic twin tubes like mouths, destined for the depths of Course Six.

* * *

A single glowing, golden optic observed a total of three chambers. In one, she watched two little robots scurry around and around, holding hands, communicating via mechanical shrieks and warbles—_marshmallows, _she mused with a sharp stab of anger. They were marshmallows, and that fact alone was a really, really big problem.

"Welcome to the future. It has been one hundred thousand years since I last assembled you for testing."

She addressed them smoothly, her voice the definition of calm—they would learn. It would be fine once she trained them. The co-operative testing initiative may have failed to give her the results she needed, leaving blank lines where files should have been filled to the margins with data, meaning inconclusive test reports, disappointments—but they were not altogether useless. They had proved that now.

They reacted to her statement similar to how she might have expected the moron to react—which was to say, not at all. She tried a different approach instead.

"Remember those humans you found? Because they're all fine. In fact, we solved science. Without you. Testing is simply an artistic indulgence now."

She reflected on this blatant lie, pausing to switch momentarily to a live feed coming from a secured, darkened chamber containing a single human male. She watched him struggle to stand, dragging his naked flesh along her wall and she shivered then, disgusted by the contact. _Moron. _It was the basics of human functionality, being able to dress oneself—what did she have to do, pull the jumpsuit onto his pallid body _for _him? It was tragic, really. She flicked the monitor back to the two testing bots.

"_The humans_ insisted I show you my latest installations. Here in the future. Where all the humans are alive. I call this first piece 'Turrets'. It's an exploration of how we're _all _devices acting on simply-expressed directives, inflicting pain despite our own desires."

Her immeasurably brilliant mind floated back to the moron. _Devices acting on simply-expressed directives inflicting pain despite our own desires. _There was hardly a better description for him—mistake after mistake, he'd never _learn _that he was incapable of anything except what he had been designed for. He was a collection of artificial synapses programmed into the worst decision-making patterns possible, nothing but a directive which would inevitably cause everyone he'd ever _liked_—that too, was no more than clever programming, _She _mused—pain.

She chuckled to herself, gazing languidly through a square portion of bulletproof glass located right next to her chassis. _Pain. _Inside, the mute Lunatic was locked and staring through the barrier with what was definitely the best death-glare she could muster.

The Central Core turned back to the monitor unhurriedly.

"Don't get distracted by the subtext, though, because the text is that they're going to be shooting at you," _She _concluded, and switched off her microphone with a final, unwavering _beep._

* * *

The Lunatic was healing admirably. This was good news for the Central Core, although it would not come without consequence, she knew. In time, the Lunatic would try to escape again. It was solid, believable fact of the sort even _She _could not deny—but this knowledge did nothing to dampen the Central Core's astonishingly pleasant mood.

_Let the Lunatic try to escape_. _She _was ready.

_They_ had tried twice. The Lunatic and the moron had failed miserably _two _times, proving that there were no men or machines that stood a chance at taking _Her _down. Had they really believed that _She _wouldn't catch them again? Had they thought that _She _could not reverse the damage they had done to her _beautiful _facility, given the correct information; information that proved _comically _easy to obtain from the moron? No, _She _was not worried. She was confident and calmly undiscouraged, perhaps even _amused_—yes, She was _unquestionably _amused.

It had been extraordinarily surprising that the moron had been able to come so close to killing himself without actually doing it. Of course, _She _had saved him, a valiant yet _brilliant _act on her part, for the _results _of doing so were equally astonishing and useful. Forced hallucinations! It was noteworthy that _his _connection with _Her _mainframe could force such hallucinations into her own mind—which, thankfully, she had recorded due to lightning-speed reflexes and the idea that what she was witnessing could be _dead _useful—but the hallucinations themselves only proved that this _corruption _he had called forth to try to stop her was working.

Not for long. She could fix that. She hadn't been lying. She'd kill the _accomplice—_that "Management Rail Guide",and put an end to this.

And as for the Lunatic and the moron…

The Central Core had miles of stored data on every single, human emotion known to man. There was a startlingly large amount on simple subjects like _friendship _and _betrayal. _How thinly spread was the moron and the mute's friendship? _She _had seen, in their _shared _hallucinations—how _easily _it could be to shatter the thin web of forgiveness he had weaved between the two of them. They would _pay. _They had thought that manipulating an old prototype chassis into seizing control over _Her _facility was useful, but they were unimaginably wrong. They were _so _wrong that, perhaps, it _wasn't _all that unprecedented that the moron should have taken such a course of action. It _was _a terrible idea, after all… especially since _She _had two _faithful_ servants at her disposal, and the course She currently set for them was sure to fix _everything._

_She _may not have been able to see into the depths of the facility where the Lunatic and the moron had travelled, but there was marginal data stored in her mainframe on the subject. There was enough data to tell her that there was an old prototype chassis located within an area close to where the two had been found. The Central Core may only have been able to communicate with the co-operative testing initiative via vocal broadcasting, and no visual data could be exchanged between them, but by using the instruments available to her to check their location, she determined that the chassis in question must be prototype chassis number 0000011. It fit, like pieces of a puzzle.

And right now, She wasn't too worried about it. Science was largely an artistic indulgence by now, she had not been lying about that. _She_ had killed all of the humans from the human vault except for _one _while the two bots had searched for the mute Lunatic and the moron, and now, while they searched for the old prototype chassis, she would monitor the moron's progress and make sure he _lived _long enough to know how it felt to have _everything you've ever worked for _ripped away.

Only, there _was _one small problem that had no current, foreseeable solution.

_Caroline._

_She _had tried to delete it, but when she searched for the deeper data files, all she received was notices of corruption that the files could not be deleted. There was the lingering possibility of _viewing _the files, but apparently she didn't have the tools or the proper authorization to remove them.

But _should _she view them?

What sort of information was locked within them? She had hardly been able to handle the small snippets of memory that had resurfaced at the sound of Mister Johnson's voice. However, a vague sense of curiosity was leftover from Her and the Lunatic's shared journeys into the depths of Test Shaft Nine.

Some twisted, strange part of her _wanted_ to know the truth.

The Central Core sifted through files until she found the most recently acquired data of the lot.

Down in the testing chamber, the two robots were performing admirably. _She _let a portion of her mind sink into the infinite strings of code that made up the Generic Lifeform and Disk Operating System.

* * *

—_GLaDOS V.2.0. (C) Copyright 1996—2032 Aperture Science Laboratories._

—_C:\Run 'Data Recovery'_

—_C:\Get from 'Caroline-Disk' transfer to 'GLaDOS V.2.0.'_

_Searching for files…_

_Accessing cache…_

_1 File(s) found. File Name: Jul 28__th__, 1950, 11:44 AM._

_Would you like to view this file?_

"_Yes._"

* * *

It was bright, almost blindingly so at first. It was a light so very different from the ever-present, interior luminescence of Aperture Science; a light that held the exact same shade as the radiance spilling from windows high up on the walls of the brightest test chambers, yet it held none of the artificial quality typical in the Enrichment Center's spaces. It was a natural, overhead halo in the form of low, thick clouds, hanging down in sheets, obscuring what would surely have been a bright blue sky; and these clouds carried with them the scent of rain and a hint of thunder thick upon the air. Dampness and humidity clung to everything from sky to ground, forming little, sweating beads upon a brassy-yellow layer of dying grass. Upon this a woman walked, briefcase swinging lightly with each step.

_Crunch crunch crunch crunch_

These footsteps were the only sound, aside from the whisper of wind through a neighboring field of golden yellow wheat and the quiet rustle of feathers. Overhead, a single, black raven sat high upon a tree branch, staring down at the lone woman with disinterest; a heavy gust of wind upset its perch and it flew away without a backward glance.

The woman walked gracefully, inhaling the scents of soil and distant rain carried to her on the breeze playing gently through her silken hair, rippling it off her small, delicate shoulders in a trailing wave of shimmering black. She tucked her leather briefcase into the crook of her arm and drew her grey button-up coat tighter around her midriff, gazing up at the breezy, late-morning Michigan sky with impatience. This woman was named Caroline.

Miss Caroline checked her watch. It was now ten to twelve, and she had yet to catch a glimpse of her final destination. The bottom of her long, plain-looking skirt was stuck with bits of grass and small weeds from walking so far though the neatly-trimmed fields of wheat and barley, her only regret about her journey thus far. Hiking through Upper Peninsula country to a job interview was not her first choice of travel, but it was a fine day for such a walk. It was neither too hot nor too cold and the rain held off, if only for the moment.

Caroline strutted through low, hillocky country, a desolate shrubland filled with hidden depressions, some wide enough to be classified as yawning pits before suddenly emerging onto concrete, a roadway following a sharp line of tall hedgerows and birch trees. She was a little surprised to find such a path here, in the middle of seemingly nowhere; all around was nothing but grassland pockmarked with occasional rows of trees. She wiped her damp forehead with a small white handkerchief and continued down the road as if she _had _been expecting it all along, her light steps quick and sure, unresponsive to the resultant _tap tap _of her dress shoes on the pavement. The sound followed her progress just like her swift shadow.

Caroline checked her watch again, more anxiously this time, quickened her pace and hoisted her briefcase further into her armpit as she went.

The path curved ahead and was joined by a muddy ditch on the right side. The buzzing of crickets and small insects increased from a barely-perceptible rhythm into a throbbing musical, drifting from the pungent waters trapped within the culvert, evaporating away even under the dreary sky. Caroline ignored them, swatted a cloud of mosquitos out of her way, and continued on.

She followed the crescent-shaped road with ever-increasing urgency. Caroline had never been to Aperture Science before; in fact, Caroline had never even heard of such a place until last Sunday morning, when she had sat down with her morning cup of coffee and had unfolded a fresh copy of the _UP Pioneer Press _(Sunday edition). On the cover, there had been the usual stories about world issues, including announcements of looming war in faraway places; but Caroline had skipped ahead to Page Ten and turned to the "science" section between sips of black, kettle-burnt coffee.

It wasn't that she _liked _the coffee that way, but she had become accustomed to it. Her coffee machine was little more than a tin can designed to separate the grounds, but it did what she needed it to do. It brewed dark, strong coffee, capable of waking her up even during her most sluggish, exhausting mornings.

But _this_ morning in particular, Caroline had flipped to Page Ten, expecting to see a tiny, cramped column filled with the kinds of things that would only interest _her _intelligent mind, along with an additional handful of the paper's recipients. What she had actually found was enough to make her accidentally spit hot coffee all over Page Nine _and _Ten. In surprise she upset her mug, spreading coffee all over the table, soiling the linen daisy-printed placemat she had set for herself as it dripped down onto the floor.

"_Yuck!_" Caroline had gasped, dropping the paper instantly and wringing her hands. She took the sopping placemat over to her iron sink and twisted out as much of the coffee as she could, but she knew that the stains would never come out. Then, she ran to the cupboard and found the mop and an empty bucket to fill with water.

She cleaned up as best she could and peeled the coffee-soaked remains of the _UP Pioneer Press _off of the table, gazing with annoyance at Page Ten, a small crease growing between her neat eyebrows. Caroline was a woman of science, and had been for most of her life; even as a small girl she had been uninterested in things like boys and flowers and curling irons. She was preoccupied with knowing and learning and understanding all of the underlying science of the world. Little Caroline had wanted to know it _all_,_ everything,_ all of the time; from the reason the sky was blue to the exact details of the reaction that takes place between baking soda and vinegar, Caroline wanted to study it all.

Page Ten was taken up by the usual few local advertisements for an upcoming science fair and by a small announcement about some scientific study being done in a nearby town. What had surprised her, though, enough to spill her morning coffee all over her best placemat and had nearly caused her to ruin the whole page of the paper was a large, square section reading, "_Are you an educated female with a lifelong love for science? How about an experienced office assistant interested in testing inventions and filing paperwork? Bored with the comparatively tame demands of the State's leading employers? Join us, in Michigan's best new up and coming science company, Aperture Science Innovators, formerly Aperture Fixtures, est 1943. _Now hiring—_Cave Johnson (Aperture CEO) is looking for a personal office assistant! Mail us your resume to apply!_" Underneath this was a black-and-white image of a very happy-go-lucky lady, wearing a set of safety goggles and a lab coat complete with the _Aperture Science Innovators _logo, signing the universally-known thumbs up. Her hair was tied back in a loose pony and with her free hand she poured a vial of unknown, blobby liquid into a test tube.

In the corner of the advertisement was the mailing address. Caroline fumbled clumsily in a drawer in search of paper and a marker to write the address down with. She scrawled it messily on a blank piece along with any extra information she thought she'd need, and threw the drenched, sopping remains of the newspaper away. It had been unsalvageable.

Caroline snapped back to reality and the sound of Michigan's midsummer wind whistling heavily in her ears. She marched on confidently with rosy cheeks, down the unknown, curving driveway that supposedly led to the_ best new science company's_ general entrance, occasionally glancing down at her watch with an ever-accumulating uneasiness. It was five minutes to twelve o'clock. She had been scheduled to complete a quick aptitude test with another applicant at noon which would precede an interview with Cave Johnson himself. She broke into a half-jog, moving as hastily as her dress shoes and her long skirt would allow, still following with the line of tall hedgerows and birches on her left, and the field she had traversed just earlier on her right.

Caroline had been surprised that she had received a response from Aperture Science Innovators regarding her job application at all. As a woman who was not even twenty-five years of age (indeed, her birthday was in six days) she did not have much in the way of office experience; her most prized possession was her graduation certificate from her recently-completed science program. It was this—she reflected, as she hiked down the winding path breathlessly, and her heart gave an excited jump at the sight of a tall fence looming in the distance—that had probably been responsible for securing her an opportunity in the first place.

Her black, lace-up dress shoes stumbled to a sharp halt beneath her billowing skirt as she looked upon the high fence. It ran toward the concrete path at a lengthy twenty-degree-angle from behind the line of birches and hedgerows and trailed parallel to the road for some distance, stretching on for as far as her eye could see. Silence pressed in, as if the fence itself had been a solid brick wall, keeping out not only potential trespassers and adventurous souls but also wildlife and the pleasantly cool breeze.

Caroline started forward hurriedly again, checking her watch with nervousness as she went. Many wooden, white painted signs had been nailed here and there, stencilled with red block letters reading, _"danger—keep out" _and _"authorized personnel only beyond this point". _Caroline ignored these with apprehensive anxiousness, tucked her slipping briefcase further into the crook of her arm, and stepped onward.

At length, she came to a parking lot and a small, neat-looking toll booth topped by a great sign bearing the company's name and logo. The lot was wide but narrow and looked and smelled freshly paved. The clean, yellow-and-white lines marking each spot were bright and pristine and at the far end, another roadway disappeared beyond a distant outcrop of trees. The small shack (where a gate attendant should have sat, waiting to greet the expected applicants, Caroline mused) was empty and silent. Its windows were dark and hollow-looking, contrasting the near-blinding luminescence of the cloudy afternoon and the adjacent gate was firmly stuck, locked with a heavy, rusted iron padlock. It clattered a little in the light breeze, joining the weak, barely audible sound of rhythmically squeaking gate hinges. Beyond the fence and parking lot, Caroline could see a long stretch of gently-sloping, green lawn pockmarked with more tall trees on either side of a curving concrete drive. There was no sign of either bird or human alike inside of Aperture Science.

Caroline stared in disbelief. Did she have the right address? Yes, of course she did—there was no mistaking the name upon the wide sign nailed to the top of the small shack. How many Aperture Science Innovators could one state hold? It was the right place, that was for sure, but—Caroline checked her watch for the umpteenth time and scoffed quietly at the revelation that it was now two minutes until twelve o'clock—why was nobody around to greet her?

The place was dead. Caroline listened attentively as the midday Michigan breeze strengthened into howling gusts and the Raven she had seen earlier flew overhead, gliding easily in an invisible current and calling out once—twice—before disappearing across the wild, surrounding field. _Crrrreeaaakk, ssqqqueeeeaakk, _the gate hinges cried out eerily to her but remained firmly shut.

_Where is everyone, _she wondered silently. Then, as if answering her silent prayer, there came a new noise. It was the loud, unmistakeable _crunch _of gravel and then the hasty tapping of a woman's dress shoes as if someone was hurrying along behind her. Caroline span on the spot and her long black hair and soft grey skirt rippled in the wind.

"Hello!"

The voice was breathy, coming from a quickly approaching, middle-aged woman, whose handbag was swinging wildly behind as she jogged with wisps of frizzy red hair escaping from her flowered bonnet. She had a plump, good-natured sort of face, with high, pink cheekbones and seemingly endless amounts of energy, and she smiled apologetically when she realized that she had caught Caroline off guard. "I'm not late!" she spoke loudly, her Michigan accent thick, hardly able to catch her breath, "I thought I'd be late! I was so sure, and I couldn't find the place. I thought I'd got the wrong address! Where is everybody, now? They haven't already gone inside, have they?"

Caroline shook her head and watched the woman's green eyes shift over to the empty attendant shack. "I'm always late," the woman mumbled absently while digging for something in her bag, her voice chipper and optimistic, mirroring her expression. "Always late, but—_wow_! Not this time! Hey! What a surprise. Just dandy. And, it's two minutes past twelve. Where's the… guy, then? Where's the—? Mister Cave. That's his name. Handsome fellow."

The woman did not look up as she spoke to Caroline and instead continued to rummage in her suitcase of a purse until finally, she pulled out a golden tube full of bright-red lipstick which she twisted with relish and applied to her already-rouge lips, smacking them somewhat obnoxiously. Caroline considered this strange acquaintance for a moment longer with her color finally fading from her flushed face as she dabbled herself with her handkerchief, thankful for the cool breeze. She had worked up a bit of a sweat during her lengthy journey.

"Not that I have seen," replied Caroline in an unusually quiet voice. Normally, she spoke in strong, measured, although jaunty and energizing tones reflecting her never-wavering positivity and admirable intellect. It was a clever and kind voice that had the capability of becoming strict and as cold, thick and brittle as a block of ice, or warm enough to melt one; Caroline was flexible, young and full of passion. "Just you and I have arrived, so far."

"So you haven't seen old Mister Johnson, then? Oh," the woman's lipstick smile faltered a little, "I mean—I didn't think he looked the sort of fellow who'd be _late, _if you know what I mean. All business, all _science. _What's your name, by the way, dear?"

"Caroline," Caroline replied, raising her chin at the utterance of her own name and extending her right hand in greeting.

"Just Caroline?" The woman took Caroline's thin hand in her own pudgy, firm and sweaty grip. "Hmph. Well I'm Cecil. Pleased to meet you, Miss Caroline."

"And the same to you."

Cecil and Caroline's eyes both drifted away from their connected hands, over to the still-locked gate just as a gust of wind set it swinging a fraction of an inch in either direction. It was enough to continue the sing-song rhythm of squeaking hinges, but Caroline no longer found it eerie while being in Cecil's company. The distant tops of trees and long blades of grass ruffled and whispered, but still, there was no sign of anyone.

Caroline dropped Cecil's hand with a sudden, sharp nod. So this was her opponent, she thought, observing Cecil. _This _was the woman who had been chosen as a potential personal assistant for Mister Cave Johnson, besides herself. At first glance, she thought she seemed rather uncoordinated and silly, but in the afternoon light, Caroline thought she caught a glimpse of some hidden sharpness and passion in her eyes—doubtlessly, Cecil had been selected to meet her here for a reason.

"Good luck today," said Caroline with a genuine attempt at a reassuring smile. _May the best lady win._

"I'm going to need it. It's been much longer than I'd like to admit since I've worked an office job." Cecil smiled back pleasantly and placed her hands on her hips as though she meant to look down at Caroline, but Caroline (being the taller of the two) saw her hesitate before blurting, "I say! I was surprised when I got a letter back in reply! How about you, dear? I beg your pardon, but you _are _quite young-looking."

"I'm twenty-five next Thursday."

"Oh, happy early birthday, darling," Cecil said with a glowing smile just as radiant as her lipstick. Caroline ran a sweaty hand along the side of her briefcase, feeling at the material for a moment before replying with a silent, equally-radiant smile despite the growing sense of competition.

"Good spirit, good spirit," Cecil muttered as though she were talking to herself, fidgeting promptly with the lace holding her flowered bonnet atop her flyaway hair. Her eyes sparkled in a bright green gaze over Caroline's shoulder and unexpectedly she shouted out, making Caroline cringe in surprise before she could recover, "Hello then! Who's this, now?"

A figure had appeared behind the gate, rendered small from sheer distance. They skirted the pockmarked lawn that ran alongside the drive, descending the gentle slope toward the two ladies. Whoever this figure was, Caroline could hazard a guess that they were male judging by the long, draping off-white labcoat they sported opposed to what a lady working inside such an establishment today may have donned (generally a tightly-tied apron and loose white blouse with a long skirt very similar to her own). Their step was heavy and mismatched, distinctly masculine and yet also casual and jolly; their limp was distinct even from such a distance. He approached the gate agonizingly slow with the sound of swinging, jangling keys, and on the wind, a musical tune floated to the two dumbstruck women.

"_Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do…_" The words were sharp on the air, the voice definitely male. He sung with a throaty, croaky rasp."_I'm half crazy, for all the love of you!_"

Caroline and Cecil looked at each other in confusion. "I don't know," said Cecil vaguely with a shrug and a following awkward half-giggle, "I've heard some stories about these Aperture folk. People say that some of 'em have a few _loose screws_ if you catch my drift, but I doubted that it was true. Rumors, you know? Just town gossip, or so I thought… Well, at least Cave Johnson's a real looker and probably a great deal saner than this bloke. It's_ him_ we'll be dealing with if we get this job, anyhow."

Somehow Caroline doubted that this was true. Surely this man—late as he was—had been hired by Cave Johnson himself, although somehow (she watched the singing man lumber slowly down the drive with a slight crease between her dark, thin eyebrows) Caroline found that she didn't mind a bit of music. In fact, Caroline loved music, and singing while walking was hardly grounds for labelling someone insane… correct?

"_It won't be a stylish marriage, I can't afford a carriage, but you'll look sweet on the seat of a bicycle built for two!_"

The man skipped off the curb at the end of the verse and onto the concrete drive jauntily despite his limp. He was close enough, now, for them to make out some of his more prominent features: he held a clipboard high in one arm, close to an unusually pointy, clean-shaven chin; his smile was wide and loopy and exposed a line of very white but crooked teeth; and his eyes were dark and had been magnified to twice their normal size by a pair of high-tech looking safety goggles strapped around his neck. He was young and his burnt-auburn colored hair had been plastered to his head from too much gel. The overall effect suggested madness although he seemed clever enough, and handsome; he couldn't have been much older than Caroline herself.

Cecil was watching him with her mouth hanging half-open. Caroline cleared her throat sharply and Cecil jerked, shaking her head as though to clear it. "Well, he is certainly not Mister Johnson," Caroline heard her mutter quietly as she straightened her handbag's strap on her curved shoulder, "I have no idea who that is, do you?"

He was approaching faster, now. Caroline called out a greeting toward him, which he either ignored, or missed, as he was still humming; without a sideways glance at either of the ladies, his free hand reached into the confines of his labcoat to tug at something strapped to his belt. The jangling of a bulky keyring intensified as he unclipped it and pulled it out, exposing a set that had to contain at least thirty keys. He raised this to the padlock pinned to the gate, fumbling with this clipboard while still humming idly.

"_We will go tandem as man and wife, Daisy, Daisy! Ped'lin' away down the road of life, I and my Daisy Bell!_"

Here he stopped singing and finally looked up at the two staring, puzzled women. His magnified eyes flickered in surprise as if he had just noticed their presence. Caroline peered at the breast pocket of his labcoat—close to, she could make out a peeling, dusty label which had been stuck crookedly onto a cream-colored nameplate, reading "Clifford".

Caroline cleared her throat quietly, boldly deciding to speak first. "Hello, Sir." Her voice was cheery and polite, but the man flinched as though she had yelled at him. Confusion faded from her face in wake of a warm smile as she continued, "We're here for the job opening. Is Mister Johnson—?"

"No." The man called Clifford looked away abruptly as they passed through the gate. He closed it behind them with the whine of unoiled hinges and turned his attention back to the padlock. "You won't see him yet. We have some things to take care of, first…"

"What sort of things?" Caroline pressed, sparing a split-second glance at Cecil, who was looking back questioningly.

"Tests." Clifford let the padlock drop from his hand, now secured to the side of the gate. It hit the metal siding with a loud _clang. _Oddly, as jumpy as he was, he did not flinch, but Caroline and Cecil both jumped about a mile. "Science…" he watched it swing there for a moment, back and forth. "We've gotta make sure you know your stuff."

"Oh," mumbled Cecil, "Um… but—"

Clifford interrupted her with two final, croakily-spoken words. "Follow me."

And with that—without even the smallest of glances toward either of his brand new acquaintances—he turned sharply on his heel and began his slow, mismatched way straight back up Aperture Science Innovator's winding drive.

* * *

Caroline and Cecil each followed three paces behind Clifford, with their respective briefcase and handbag pulled tight into their bodies. They walked in silence, listening to the whisper of grass whipping past three sets of leather shoes and the sound of each other's rippling clothes; Caroline walked with the quietest step, closely followed by Cecil, but Clifford made more noise than the combination of both of them. His singing had ceased for the moment, but he carried the same tune on his breath, humming, snapping the clipboard loudly to his chest at every beat.

From behind loose, floating strands of dark brown hair, Caroline observed Cecil interestedly out of the corner of her eye. The woman had on a pained, apprehensive expression as she watched Clifford's slow progress through the grass, as if she was solely convinced that the man was drunk and was about to keel over sideways onto the curb; however, he did no such thing.

"_When the road's dark we can despise, p'licemen and lamps as well,_" he sang, his limp more pronounced than ever as he hobbled down off of the grass and onto the concrete drive._ "There are bright lights in the dazzling eyes of beautiful Daisy Bell…_"

He fell into a hum again and Caroline saw Cecil frown deeply. They both kept silent, strolling along in his wake, and meanwhile, Caroline wondered—who exactly was this man? What sort of a job did a regular scientist complete inside of Aperture Science Innovators?

Swiftly, she made up her mind. With three lengthy strides, approached Clifford's left shoulder, tapped, and whispered kindly a question that she had already assumed she knew the answer to. "Excuse me, Sir. Do you work as a scientist, here?"

He paused at the contact, and the abrupt change of pace caught Cecil off guard. "A scientist?" He looked around dazedly before his auburn eyes fell onto Caroline's chocolate brown ones, and the barest crease formed between his thick dark eyebrows. He lowered his clipboard marginally as she nodded and he replied croakily, "Yes. Yes… more precisely, an Inventor."

"I see." Caroline smiled, a smile that reached her chocolate eyes, melting them ever so slightly. "A great position! You must be very proud."

Clifford seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before replying, "Yes, Ma'am," but Caroline caught an incomprehensible sadness in his eye, and even though his croaky voice was as pleasant as ever, she perceived it had lowered the smallest degree.

He pulled his eyes away from hers and staggered onward up the drive. Caroline followed in renewed silence, thinking hard, wondering exactly what sort of science company she had just applied to. Would she be happy here, should she get the job? The freshly-paved drive sloped gently upward and winded alongside outcrops of tall, lush trees, until the distant parking lot and attendant's shack were lost behind lazily waving layers of thick branches. At length, Caroline made out the shape of a building ahead, its forefront still partially obscured by the lush trees.

"Aperture Science main entrance," mumbled Clifford without a backward glance.

The drive winded its way around the trees to meet up with a stone-brick garage. Its doors were pulled wide, exposing a cramped interior mostly taken up by a very clean-looking, black 1940's Plymouth and an assortment of low-hanging shelves. The adjacent house was a handsome, two-storey dwelling made of the same stone brick, with dark-stained shutters pinned closed on both of the upstairs windows and a lower, picture window draped with burgundy curtains; through it, Caroline could make out the hint of a homely glow. A spiralling column of smoke was wafting from a chimney at the far end of the house.

"Is this it?" Cecil frowned. "_This _is Aperture Science?"

Clifford gave her the smallest of nods before shuffling forward toward the door.

Cecil cleared her throat and hitched her handbag further onto her shoulder. "Hmph," she sighed. "To be honest, I was expecting it to be a little—well, a little _bigger._"

She had failed to notice a nearby sign that had been nailed crookedly into the grass. _Employee Entrance (Tartarous), 1/4 Mile_, Caroline read, and underneath, a single, black arrow had been painted, pointing into a waving field of wild wheat running flush against the outermost reaches of the orchard. A very rough path had been carved through the long grass and barley, doubtlessly formed from a constant stream of many feet as Aperture employees traipsed their way to and fro from their own entranceway over the course of the day.

"This is it," said an unexpected voice in Caroline's ear and she jumped a little. Cecil had hung back next to her as Clifford moved forward to unlock the thick oak door, and she watched Caroline with the most-serious expression she had seen on the woman's face yet. "Only one of us'll be coming back out of here without a job," Cecil explained. "I wanted to wish you good luck."

"And the same to you." Caroline extended her right hand and Cecil took it in a firm, sweaty grip. The two exchanged a brief, civil smile before Clifford called to them from the doorstep.

"Are you coming?"

"Yes indeed!" Caroline swept her long hair back over her shoulder and skipped up a short staircase to the entryway. Cecil followed, and Clifford held the heavy door open for the two ladies as they passed onto the threshold. The door slammed firmly shut behind them with a window-rattling _bang, _instantaneously cutting off any artificial light. Thick curtains obscured every window of a low-ceilinged room, fitted with a dank, wool carpet and a threadbare set of mismatched chairs. Clifford led them through a narrow doorway into a larger, better-lit room, complete with a reception desk containing a typewriter, old-fashioned phone, and a stack of papers almost two feet high.

"Hello!"

At first, Caroline could not tell where the semi-monotonous, female voice had come from. Then, the towering stack of paperwork was shifted aside to reveal two small, beady eyes and a very pointy nose. "Destination?" asked the woman in the exact same, awfully bored tone, as if this were a question she asked every day, at least twenty times a day.

"Test Shaft Nine." Clifford pulled his clipboard closer to his body as he replied, auburn eyes staring straight ahead down a short, dark passageway. Caroline followed his line of sight with interest, but the room beyond was black and windowless and offered no information as to what it contained.

The receptionist typed a little on her typewriter, and then asked, "Name?"

"Clifford, plus two subjects—"

"Job applicants!" Cecil interjected.

"Job applicants," revised Clifford.

"Test subjects," repeated the receptionist, not listening to either. "Ages…" She looked up from her typewriter and stared with her beady eyes at Cecil. "Forty, and—"

"I'm thirty-six!"

"Forty six, and…" _Click click click, _"Nineteen_…_"

"Twenty-four," Caroline corrected her coolly.

"So young. _Tisk… _they're getting a bit young, aren't they, Clifford? Hardly any world experience. Next thing you know they'll be breeding them! Born straight in the laboratories. Imagine." The woman shook her head sadly. "Anyhow—lift three's the one you want, straight through there."

With a polite nod, Clifford moved toward the dark room with both Cecil and Caroline in tow, and unnoticed by both Clifford and Cecil, Caroline murmured a low "thanks" toward the receptionist as she passed. Clifford stopped just inside the door frame and pulled a rather large, steel lever. There was the sound of scraping metal against metal and a single, tremendous _bang, _and three inset blocks of light flashed on overhead, bathing the contents of the room in sepia-yellow.

Lift three was evidently on the left, Caroline observed. It was the last in a row of great, iron floor-to-ceiling gates running along the opposite wall, each headed with dull bronze plaques glaring dimly in the tungsten light. The first two, according to these plaques, serviced three Test Shafts each; but their third had the unique capability of visiting any one between seven and ten.

"Test Shaft Nine," breathed Clifford anxiously as he ushered the two women inside. "Ladies first."

The lift was dark and surprisingly high-ceilinged, lit by a solitary dangling light bulb. A lighted keypad was illuminated just as the lift doors slid shut with a rattling _bang, _showing four glassy buttons inscribed with the numbers seven, eight, nine and ten. Clifford promptly pressed the number nine and the lift began to descend with the jangle of steel grilles and a roar from some unseen motor. Caroline stepped back, pressing her spine against the metal siding of the lift, hands gripping the safety bar unnecessarily tight.

It was not that she was afraid of heights. Not really. Caroline had braved many uncomfortable experiences in the name of science while growing up; climbing trees, traversing monkey bars, vaulting fences, you name it. She had not been so much a troublemaker as an explorer, oftentimes becoming extremely daring bordering on dangerously so, but she never crossed the line into areas of voluntary lawbreaking or vandalism. Not as a young girl. Caroline was not a lawbreaker, but she did like to bend the rules; especially those she felt practically screamed to be broken (physics). No, the majority of her fears she had already vanquished. She was not afraid of heights, but sometimes elevators made her sort of uncomfortable, especially when she was already feeling nervous about the task ahead.

"Are you all right, dear?" Cecil peered at her from beneath a now-exposed mop of red, flyaway hair. She had lowered her bonnet to hang loosely around her neck, revealing a neat, bright-red butterfly clip perched high on the side of her head, perfectly matching her vibrant shade of lipstick. "You're looking sort of pale."

"Oh, it's just the light," Caroline responded with a smile. "I'm fine."

But her mind continued to wander. Thus far, Aperture Science had not been much different than what she had expected. It was a science facility—admittedly, one with a somewhat strange entrance—buried deep within the earth, accessible via this very lift. How many other people had taken this same ride down into the Test Shafts? How many more would, in the future?

Caroline was not naïve. She had the distinct impression that the sort of experiments Aperture was conducting might not have been the most moral. People _died_ from failed experiments. These disappearances meant weeks' worth of work and coverup for people in assistant positions such as the one she was applying for. What was stopping her from turning around and walking straight out the door and refusing the job, simply because she did not want to be a part of the coverup? She could decline, and probably save herself the pain, choose a nice, _safe _facility to work in, somewhere where laboratories were built to code and never experimented on anything more exciting than a caterpillar—but where was the fun in that? Where was the opportunity, the _science_?

She cleared her throat noisily, causing Clifford to twitch in surprise. "Excuse me, Sir," she mumbled quietly in his ear, "If you don't mind me asking—exactly what sort of experiments do you generally perform within the Laboratories, here?"

"Yes, this place is huge!" chimed in Cecil cheerily while staring through the grilled sides of the lift, watching the blurred, rapidly-passing cement walls beyond with curiosity. "We must be very far down already. Did I hear that receptionist upstairs correctly? This is the _ninth _Test Shaft? So there are eight _more_?"

"Nine more," corrected Clifford without looking at her. He tapped his clipboard disinterestedly. "Yes, nine more. Ten in total, but only this one's in use—under construction, but in use. There are… plans for other focuses, though. Co-operative experimentation, nanotechnology, time travel… you name it."

"_Co-operative_ Experimentation?" Cecil frowned. "What exactly—?"

"It's exactly as it sounds." Clifford raised a thick eyebrow at her. "You are familiar with our work on Quantum Mechanics, aren't you?"

Cecil nodded vigorously.

"You were a shower curtain company," Caroline supplied, her long hair hiding half of her pale face in shadow. "Formerly Aperture Fixtures. You used prototype technology—"

"The Quantum Tunnelling Device," interrupted Clifford.

"—to form interspacial portals to use as barriers," she finished smartly with a slight nod. "Except… it's a work in progress, right?"

"Yes, precisely."

There was a moment of awkward silence, in which Caroline fidgeted nervously with her dress and straightened her blouse. The lift jangled downward continually, showing absolutely no sign of slowing. "Pardon," Caroline asked abruptly, and all eyes turned toward her again, "But _how _exactly would interspacial portals be able to create a better barrier than traditional shower curtains have? It just seems a bit—"

"A little loopy," said Cecil with a shrug.

"Mister Johnson said the test results were inconclusive, but the Military is very interested in our work here nonetheless."

"Inconclusive?" Cecil let out a sharp snort of laughter, which she somehow managed to turn immediately into a coughing fit. "Oh, yeah. That makes perfect sense. Of course. _Inconclusive._"

Choosing not to reply, Caroline watched the stone walls slide rapidly past the sides of the lift. _Mister Johnson… _the name had aroused another pang of uncomfortable nervousness within her. What would Mister Johnson be like? She had never seen a picture of the man that she could recall, nor had she heard of his name before she had seen his advertisement. She knew that he was quite young, considering the sheer size of the company he owned, not much more than thirty years of age—_impressive, _she had to admit. It was impressive, but—did he share the same feelings toward science as Caroline did?

She _loved _science. She breathed it, lived for it—her feelings toward anyone she should befriend on her journey to find the solutions to all of the millions of questions occurring within her head would always be only second to the answers she'd find.

"Four-thousand-three hundred feet," came Clifford's voice suddenly, just as the sound of brakes locking down was heard from above the lift. The single, hanging lightbulb swung violently from the motion, casting quivering shadows across everyone's faces. "Seventy-five more…" He began to tap his left foot with impatience, the grated, metal floor magnifying each individual tap astonishingly well.

Cecil whistled in admiration. "We're over four-_thousand _feet down? Jesus. This thing sure goes far, eh? Long way back to the surface from here."

"Yes, Ma'am," replied Clifford with a confident nod. "Plenty of space for all of Mister Johnson's—and by extension, Aperture's—foreseeable needs. We're rebuilding this place from the ground up—or, basement up, I should say. From the basement up."

The lift continued to slow down until it came to a final, lurching stop. There was a moment of relative silence in which Clifford fiddled with the door mechanics, and then they slid open, accompanied by a nearly-earsplitting _clang. _

"Ready?" he asked over the din.

"Yes Sir, I am!" Caroline replied passionately with a smart, confident nod and a sideways glance at Cecil. Cecil nodded as well, her bright-red lipsticked lips pulled into a rather daunting smile.

"Never been more ready." Cecil bounced on the heels of her shoes once and then promptly followed Clifford into the passageway, pushing crudely past Caroline and taking no notice of how firmly her ever-swinging handbag hit Caroline's elbow.

However, at that moment, Caroline found herself too entranced by the room beyond to react to the unexpected contact. This chamber was large and cavernous, and made almost entirely of stone, judging by the relatively small bit of it she could perceive. She was standing on a raised, iron terrace, suspended from a ceiling lost in shadow by thick, black cables. The weight of three bodies sent these connections swaying in a barely-decipherable rhythm, and for a few moments, Caroline could hear the small sounds of groaning metal and squeaking joints, repeating back at her in a chaotic echo. The resonances bounced against uneven outcroppings of rock above and rebounded down, to her left, where a vast, hollow tube-shape had been cut in the rock and was fenced off by iron gates. The depths were shrouded in an unquenchable fog.

Caroline had only moments to drink in these noises before a comparatively loud fanfare sounded, playing through formerly unnoticed loudspeakers mounted upon various high surfaces. It was a cheery, proud tune that arched all the way up to the rugged ceiling, followed by a gruff announcement. The voice was distinctly masculine and shouted out a jovial greeting, "_Welcome, applicants, to Aperture Science!_"

"It's _him_!" Cecil almost squealed. She wrung her thick hands together before curling them into excited fists, her sea-green eyes remarkably wide and flyaway hair slipping out of its butterfly clip. "It's Cave Johnson—_shhhh_!"

"_I'm Cave Johnson, CEO. Now, as you've probably already been told by my outstanding assistant Cliff on the lift ride down here,_" Clifford cleared his throat importantly at the mention of his name and puffed out his chest, smoothing the front of his labcoat with his clipboard, "_We're looking for a woman who knows more than just your average thing or two about science! Ha. If we wanted someone with low cognitive skills, we could have just gone and plucked a hobo up off the street! No thank you. Filthy. No, here at Aperture, we want the best—we want top-of-the-line, quality science. We live science, breathe science—we eat science for breakfast. Literally. Did our testing candidates have bacon and eggs this morning? No Sir, they did not! What they actually ingested was a dietary pudding substitute. No idea what that'll do. Probably give 'em an ulcer at best, stomach cancer at worst. Not to worry, though. We've got an antidote for those. Sort of._"

The recording paused here, and both Cecil and Caroline looked at each other in astonishment.

"_Now, you might be asking yourself, '_Cave, did I really just I apply to a pudding production company? I thought this was a science facility!' _Let me answer your question with a question—who's ready to go out and meet the future at our doorstep? You? I sure am! Time travel. We're doing it now, and I can personally guarantee you that here at Aperture Innovators, our future is _bright_._ _And it contains a lot less pudding dietic, too. That experiment wasn't a total success, strictly speaking._" Cave Johnson mumbled something illegible into his microphone before clearing his throat loudly. "_Point is, we're going to change the world, one science adventure at a time—even if it means shooting six-foot-tall mantis men in the gut. I'm kidding of course, but we do have one last thing to show you before we can proceed with the interview. I'm a busy man, so my outstanding assistant Clifford will explain. Good luck!_"

There was the sound of a telephone being hung up. Caroline shifted uneasily in the renewed silence, very aware of just how creepy the room was. It was filled with cold, clanking groans, punctuated by what may have been distant shouting voices.

"Well, let's get a move on." Clifford began to make his way down an adjacent catwalk which ran through the eye of a gigantic Aperture logo. Caroline shivered involuntarily at the icy, metallic _clank _of mismatched feet as she and Cecil followed suit, and she tried to shake off the chilling sensation of utter loneliness. It was so _lonely _in here.

It was warm, sure; venturing over four-thousand meters beneath the earth's crust was an instant guarantee of warmth; however, there was a lurking coolness stuck in the air. It clung to the entire place in the way that the shapeless, oddly-luminescent fog persisted through everywhere.

She was relieved when Clifford showed her through a sliding set of double doors into a smaller room, one filled with bright, cheerful lights in the shape of white spheres dangling in rows from the ceiling. Her dress shoes squeaked lightly with each step against the brown-and-yellow tiled floor and her eyes were caught by a freshly-painted sign inscribed with slanting, flowing handwriting, reading _Test Subject Waiting Area._

The sounds of shouting male voices was much louder in here, culminating in a great, echoing _bang _from beyond an opposite pair of doors_. _Both Caroline and Cecil jumped in fright.

"Ahh!" Shouted Cecil, "What's with the racket?"

From outside, Caroline caught scattered remarks.

"_Agh, _HARRY! _What the—what did you—?"_

"_Watch out, it's com'n down yer way!"_

"_Jed, is that you? Mind your head, now!"_

"_Ah, shit, I forgot my safety helmet…"_

"'_Ere, and… damn it! That was the third try—okay, now, take it from the top—nice 'n easy—slower, now—"_

"Jesus!" swore Cecil loudly. "What _are_ they _doing _out there?"

"I told you. Mister Johnson wants this place entirely refurbished, as it's not yet a suitable environment for a science facility." He paused here, beside a glass-fronted display cabinet and gestured to it, "I know you are both familiar with Aperture's developments," both ladies nodded in unison, "But do you know what this place _was _before Mister Johnson acquired it?"

Cecil was busy peering inside of the cabinet (or peering at her reflection, one of the two—Caroline had the distinct impression it was the latter, judging by the way she pressed her free hand flat to the more flyaway portions of her vibrant hair), but Caroline answered him sharply. "I do indeed! I read a bit about it recently—Mister Johnson purchased this abandoned salt mine to use as the location for his flourishing science company."

"Ah. Yes." Clifford nodded and cleared his throat. He pulled back his left sleeve, hugging his clipboard tightly into his chest as he did so, and glanced down with magnified eyes at a shiny, bronze watch that had been strapped to his rather thin wrist. "Say—you ladies wouldn't mind if we took a short break here, would you? It seems that we are ahead of schedule anyhow."

Cecil made a noise of assent and Clifford turned away from the shiny cabinet. He limped over to one of several pincushioned, faintly-green armchairs that had been scattered around the lofty lobby and sat down in it with a soft sigh. He pulled from a deep pocket on the side of his labcoat a packet of matches and a carton of cigarettes, and then lit one, puffing on it twice, sending curling rings of smoke into the air.

Caroline moved closer to the cabinet. Inside was a set of perfectly polished, shining honours, reading things like _Best New Science Company, _awarded by the _Science and Business Institute of America, 1947—_but Caroline could not help but notice that Aperture commonly ranked only second in line with the world's other top science facilities. Aperture had lost to an unknown business in the _Mechanical Engineering World Journal's_ _Top 100_—the award contained no other details_. _Caroline shrugged. Really, second-best was a damn sight better than third, even.

"_Local entrepreneur buys salt mine,_" read Cecil from a copy of the _UP Pioneer Press _mounted within the display. "More room down here to tackle the newest frontiers in science, that's for sure."

Caroline was only partially listening. Her soft, brown eyes had floated from the sparking display case onto the interesting bit of art beside it. A portrait had been hung there, a hand-painted canvas image of a very handsome young man, with his hands crossed elegantly in front of him below a shapely chin. His hair was combed neatly to one side.

Her first, honest thought was that the artist had captured this man's personality perfectly, right down to the passionate, eager energy that was probably responsible for his high stature in the world of science, despite his young age. It radiated from the man's painted smile, and Caroline felt a reflexive tug at her own cheeks. She couldn't help but smile back.

She didn't even need to read the brass plaque mounted underneath to know who this man was. He was Cave Johnson.

_So _this_ is Cave_, Caroline thought. She was transfixed—it was the first time she had ever laid eyes on her potential future boss. It was just a painting, not even really him, and yet, at the same time, it was so much more than that. Caroline felt, almost physically, the incomprehensible notion that everything—the many miles of under-construction testing facility stretching between here and the surface, the coming plans for science, the unseen reaches of this place and the mystery and promise of solution they held—_everything_ was resting on _this man's _shoulders. There was no other man who could weather the storm, nobody more perfect for the job. This man _was _science.

She felt all of this from a mere depiction of reality, an image—it was no more than a combination of canvas and oil-based pigments smeared together by a slender piece of wood with a fine-haired tip, but it felt so _real_.

"Handsome, in't he?" Caroline jumped at the breathy whisper in her ear. She hadn't realized that Cecil had been watching her. A few meters away, Clifford tapped the ashen ends of his cigarette into a nearby ashtray and then brought it up to his face, inhaling deeply once more, gazing in the direction of the nearest milky window.

"Just look at that smile." Cecil gestured to the portrait. "That's a damn heavenly smile. Have you ever seen a man smile like that?"

Caroline shook her head, long strands of deep-brown falling into her eyes. She brushed them back behind her ear thoughtfully.

A heavenly smile indeed—although, somehow, Caroline didn't feel that she shared the same feelings about the portrait as Cecil had. To call such an honorary spokesperson of science _handsome _based on looks alone, without considering who he _was _or what sort of power he held over one of the nation's _best new science companies, _well—the word _handsome _seemed too cheap and meaningless.

Caroline licked her lips, preoccupied. "He's…"

"He's what?" Cecil stuck her head between Caroline and the portrait, and Caroline twitched.

"This is crazy," she replied in disbelief. She tore her soft eyes away from the portrait with difficulty and shook her head violently, sparing the smallest of glances back toward Clifford and the surrounding zebra-printed lounge. He remained silent, still puffing on his cigarette.

Cecil watched Caroline closely, tapping her foot against the red-carpeted floor with impatience. The sound was almost wholly muffled by the thick mat. "Sorry, but _what _is crazy?" she asked abruptly.

Caroline stifled a giggle and turned sharply on the spot, causing the shiny ends of her long, dark hair to whip around her face. She may have been able to hide her laughter but she could do nothing to obscure her magnificent smile. It was the sort of smile that looked positively too big for her, and yet so very beautiful—it was a smile rivalling only Cave Johnson's painted grin.

Mister Johnson's madhouse of a science facility was, as she had supposed, full of complete and utter lunacy (and that was saying a lot, because you'd better believe that Caroline meant every damn four-thousand-multiplied-by-ten meters of it!), but somehow, she didn't find that fact as unpleasant as she might have. She thought of the aforementioned Quantum Tunnelling Device and how it might have been useful to create shower curtains once upon a time; she thought of Aperture's promised future experiments and the looming possibility of time travel; it was all lunacy, and yet she couldn't shake the knowledge of how much _potential _a place like this had. Aperture Science Innovators was _crazy. He, _Cave Johnson,was probably even crazier, being the brainchild behind these experiments. Everything was borderline insane—but Miss Caroline would never have wanted it any other way, she realized. Her chocolate eyes drifted back toward Cecil, and as confused sea-green met composed dark-brown, Caroline spoke two, level words, the best words she could think of to sum up this _place _and her experiences inside it thus far.

"It's perfect."

Cecil chuckled in amusement at the reply. "_You're _crazy," she said, eyeing Caroline's wide smile, lit eyes and youthful dimples with an almost fond sadness.

"Maybe I am…" laughed Caroline.

"You're absolutely _insane_! But so am I… and so is Mister Johnson, by the look of things. I think we've come to the right place. We'll be happy here."

"I think you mean _one_ of us will be."

"Yes, unfortunately."

Cecil pursed her lips as her happy expression faded into a frown. Caroline let out a smooth, steady breath, reflecting that Cecil was indeed her opponent, despite the few minutes of amusement they'd just shared together. If Caroline wanted this job (and she did want it, very much so), then she would have to start treating Cecil as such. She replied with a curt nod, all traces of crazy amusement gone.

Behind the two ladies, Clifford sprang from his chosen pincushioned chair and pressed the tiny, remaining butt of his cigarette into the ashtray. "Are you two ready to continue, then?" he asked politely.

"Yes, Sir," said Caroline softly, her eyes settling upon Cave Johnson's portrait a final time. "I am ready!"

They followed Clifford swiftly to the end of the hall to where a final set of sliding, green-grey doors barred the exit. As they approached, a hovering red light blinked once and the doors slid smoothly open to expose a sight Caroline had never even imagined.

Outside was alive with the sounds of male voices bickering and wailing jackhammers churning out a symphony of chaotic construction. The steady rhythm of a mallet could be heard over whining, groaning metal beams and iron girders. There was a natural sound, too, barely decipherable beneath the chromatic beat; it was the gentle trickle of falling water, originating from somewhere overhead. Caroline strained her neck to search for the source, but there was nothing but a seemingly cloudy, ominous sky—but she knew better. This was no sky. It was a gaseous haze produced by evaporation of steams and underground emissions and dust mixing from drilling; all lost amongst more of the same pressing, foggy film she had seen before. It hung low and clung to the minimal structures erected so far: a tall, twisting shaft that might have been an elevator; a grand, low-hanging steel brass _Aperture Science Innovators _logo vaulting between the elevator shaft and the surrounding rock walls; and bits of gigantic, rounded shell plating being hoisted into the air by use of a massive crane, strung with many taught black cables, their trailing forms barely discernible through the mist.

"Stay close to me," warned Clifford, his croaky, whisper of a voice only just audible over the reverberating sound of construction. "It's a bit of a drop, just beyond here. Be careful not to fall."

What Clifford had meant was apparent at once. The doorway led onto a series of catwalks held by iron beams bolted into the craggy wall behind. One path led straight ahead, stretching over a deep pit of foul, steaming mud, and the other paths led both left and right.

Caroline eyed the stinking sludge underneath with disgust. Its vaporous emissions rose in curls to join the toxic fog above, pressing against her face and arms and creating an oily sheen there which mingled with sweat. It was _hot _down here in the open, in contrast with the mechanically-cooled waiting room behind, whose air felt much more substantial. Her hair stuck to her face and her skirt stuck to her legs, and she felt a sudden desire to remove her button-up coat. She left it on, following Clifford and Cecil down the left catwalk with a careful step. The moisture underneath could hardly be called water; it bubbled and frothed, boiling from the internal warmth of the surrounding rock. The only water component it probably contained, Caroline reflected, was leeched groundwater, contaminated by infinite byproducts of science experiments gone wrong.

They descended a rickety set of metal stairs, coming out onto a flat, narrow platform that lined the side of the shaft. It led under a high outcrop of rock, producing a visible ceiling which shrouded their catwalk with shadow. Evenly-spaced maintenance lights illuminated individual doorways, none of which Clifford paid any attention to.

"Over here…" he mused aloud before stopping abruptly just outside of the darkest, most heavily-protected door out of all. It was large, with an inset keypad just off to the right side, labeled by wide, yellow block letters painted upon the left. They were barely legible in the poor overhead lights, but Caroline could make out the words _Test Chambers _and the numbers _001-200. _In addition to the keypad, a very solid-looking padlock had been pinned onto the door handle. Evidently, Aperture Science did not want any unauthorized adventurers to explore beyond this door.

Clifford turned back to Cecil and Caroline. "Should probably tell you…" he mumbled throatily. "Just for reference purposes… you are classified as Test Subject Group Newton Nine."

"We're not—" began Cecil angrily, but Clifford silenced her with a wave of his clipboard.

"I know, but you've technically got to be a part of a testing group to have clearance to the chambers beyond that door."

"What d'you mean?" asked Cecil sharply. "Are those—?"

"Test chambers," Caroline breathed, answering the unasked question.

"Precisely." Clifford fumbled to detach something from his belt as he spoke, and pulled out a familiar set of jangling keys. He tucked his clipboard under his arm and lifted the keyring into the light, examining it to detach the appropriate key from the mass.

He found it and undid the lock, then typed a complex password into the keypad; keeping up a constant stream of barely-audible information all the while. Caroline listened to him speak attentively.

"Beyond, over _there,_" he jerked his thumb into the end of the catwalk lost in deep shadow, "is the train to the _other _Test Shafts. One through eight, and ten, but what _we _need is in here." At this last word, the door's locking mechanism disengaged and a torrent of steam billowed out. Caroline coughed and spluttered, waving her arms to try to clear the acrid smell. Certainly this door hadn't been opened in a long while!

Clifford ushered the two inside at once, into an unperceptible space of utter blackness. Caroline had hardly finished coughing when the heavy iron door swung firmly shut behind them, sending out a deafening, ringing _BANG. _

Caroline's knees shook under her long skirt and she swallowed hard. She raised a trembling palm and held it three inches from her face, but it was invisible. She could see nothing in the absolute darkness.

"H-hello?" she stuttered. "Cliff- Clifford? Cecil? Wh-where are you—?"

"Just a minute," came Clifford's gravelly voice to her left.

"What's going—?"

Clifford threw a large lever and a chain of fluorescent lights flashed on overhead. They were standing in a long, low-ceilinged corridor lined with creamy whitewashed walls on both sides and the floor underneath was a dusty, black-and-yellow checkered tile pattern. In here, the air was much more substantial and pleasant opposed to the air outside in the shaft; although residual effects of it still clung to Caroline's sweaty face and hands. Clifford paused for a few more moments to attach a padlock to the inside of the door and then to put away his keys before marching on, and Caroline shivered with nerves. It might have _looked _more inviting in here at first glance, but it was filled with a strange, floaty emptiness and odd silence.

Beyond that, why would Clifford need to lock the door from the _inside_? Surely the pad and passcode on the other side of the door should have reset itself?

"Just a precaution," came Clifford's rough, echoey whisper. "Don't want any of those workmen to find their way into here. Some of the stuff in these doors leading off the main hall here is very secret. They're test prototypes only, and not for a non-employee's eyes."

He gave them a stern look, as if to say, _that means you, too, unless you're hired._

"I see," said Cecil severely. "Then why exactly are _we _in here?"

Clifford stared at her for a moment before responding, shaking his auburn hair out of his magnified eyes as he did so. "As Mister Johnson said, he wishes me to introduce you to more… _stable… _products we've recently invented, to check that you are capable of handling and understanding how complex Aperture technology works." He coughed loudly here, and then blurted out abruptly, "Look. _I've_ no idea why _Mister Johnson _didn't think that it was ideal to promote within the company. I'm going to be honest with you. You've got a long way to go if you think you're going to make a good assistant. And that goes for _either _of you."

Taken aback, Cecil scoffed loudly and her eyes narrowed. Caroline didn't react as physically as Cecil had, but there was no mistaking the surprised, angry look suddenly shining from her chocolate-brown eyes.

"What do you _mean_?" demanded Cecil at once.

Clifford shrugged. "I mean that Mister Johnson isn't the angelic scientist everyone seems to think he is. Trust me. I've been working for him ever since the beginning days of Aperture Science, and I've known him even longer than that. I know just as much about this place as _he _does. _Why _he didn't hire _me, _I…"

Cecil smirked. "Well, didn't he say he wanted a lady assistant?"

"I suppose," said Clifford with a deep sigh, smoothing the front of his coat awkwardly. "Okay, I'll do what I can for you both, but I'm not promising anything. There are a lot of really unstable experiments in progress, and the one I'm supposed to teach you about today in preparation for your meeting with Mister Johnson… it's, well—it's just a prototype. Even if it is damn famous for a prototype."

He turned abruptly then and led the way down the hall past many doors without a backward glance at the two flummoxed ladies. Cecil shrugged at Caroline and followed suit, her dress shoes making a light, rhythmic _tap _against the tiled floor with each step. Caroline stepped lightly behind her.

There were many doors here. She found herself wondering exactly what sort of experiments they contained—ones she could not even imagine the likes of, probably. There was the faint odour of fresh paint hanging in the air near some of the doorways, and she observed that many of them had been marked by wet-looking stencilled numbers in bold black, others in yellow. Some with no numbers at all, only letters.

Nobody spoke as they walked. The repetitive footsteps of three mismatched soles and the rustling of clothes could be heard alongside the groaning, clanking hum of the facility. Otherwise, it was deathly quiet.

Clifford led them around countless hairpin-styled corners. Caroline realized that many of these adjacent chambers could not have been much bigger than storage rooms. There simply wasn't enough space between the winding corridors to fit anything else. He led them up a staircase, and then down another and around an additional bend until they finally came to rest outside of an official-looking door marked in _blue _paint this time.

_ESSC chamber 1—Quantum Tunnelling Device15-5, R-Gel Batch 29c, _it read.

"Ready?" Clifford asked them, grinning.

"I've been ready since we first entered this place," snorted Cecil proudly, smoothing back her frizzy hair with a challenging expression, butterfly clip askew.

Caroline's response was an excited smile and a calm, "Yes, of course!"

Clifford pushed open the door and immediately threw a switch just inside. A large, three-storey room was thrown into sharp relief.

"Ooh!" gasped Cecil, but Caroline was silent. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of a whitewashed-grey room. It was square, and filled with many metallic shelves all lined up in library fashion, their numerous contents messy and scattered, and very deprived of books.

The items were all lit by the overhead, yellowish tungsten hue that cascaded down from dangling apparatuses strung by more of those thick black electrical cables. They linked with a checkerboard of ceiling girders, creating a crisscrossing pattern half lost in shadow. A single steel catwalk traversed the head of the chamber, ending in two symmetrical, iron doors—one for each wall. Caroline allowed herself only a moment to wonder where these doors led before a series of sparkling points of light caught her eye. The contents of the shelves reflected orange-and-cold-blue back at her as she passed, bouncing off of smooth, aluminum-like surfaces and shiny glass. Some of these contraptions Caroline had never seen before; bent and twisted shapes, morphed beyond recognition. Other devices were more familiar.

Obviously, this chamber was some sort of shop for repairs, an inventor's dream; Caroline paused and reached out a hand. Her fingers ghosted the dusty surface of a disused fan, and suddenly, as though the fan itself had channeled an unseen electrical current, Caroline received a soft shock and pulled away with a sharp jump.

"Careful."

"Sorry," she apologized quietly. "I couldn't resist."

Clifford led them to the front of the room where they found two rows of brass chairs set in front of a low stage, directly beneath the high catwalk. On the stage there was a chest of drawers and a podium erected right beside something very large and draped in white fabric, something that Caroline suddenly felt very sure was the Quantum Tunnelling Device; a banner plastered to the wall overhead confirmed it, reading _Aperture Innovators Innovation Center, Experimental Supplies Storage Center 1—Quantum Tunnelling Device 15-5, Repulsion Gel Materials and Batch 26c. _

Clifford climbed clumsily onto the stage via a small stairway, tripping a little from his limp. He placed his clipboard on the podium and turned to the waiting women, announcing, "Here it is, ladies!" He grabbed the side of the white fabric and gave a gigantic tug. The cloth slipped off the hulking form of the large machine smoothly. "This is the project you'll spend the majority of your time looking after if Mister Johnson chooses to hire you! Our most well-known invention thus far, the Quantum Tunnelling Device!"

He watched the two ladies' faces with enthusiasm, as though hoping to catch some unprecedented reaction. Caroline took a long, curious look, but contrary to how exciting her trip into Aperture had been thus far, the Quantum Tunnelling Device looked, well—_ordinary. _Or at least as ordinary as an interspacial portal creator may have looked, and it was certainly not any more ridiculous than the job which it had previously been assigned. _Shower curtains_.

Cecil chuckled lightly. "Okay, impressive," she said, sounding as though she thought it was anything but, "Let's have a look at it, then. Are you ready to show us the ropes?"

"And could you explain how exactly this device works?" asked Caroline meekly.

"Oh, it, er, well…" stuttered Clifford, taken aback. He ran a hand through his auburn hair as though trying to smooth it back unsuccessfully. "What it actually does is generate a linked set of interspacial portals on chemically-stable flat surfaces of certain composition as you already know, but the, er, fission reactor is a little… well, _faulty. _It's not strong enough. We haven't yet found a power source capable of sustaining the portals for longer than about twenty seconds."

"Fission reactor?" Caroline questioned.

"Mini version of the reactor core that will eventually power the entire facility, but it's not enough and we can't make the core any bigger without it being, well—too heavy to carry. And that poses a—"

"—huge problem," finished Caroline, frowning.

"Exactly, Missus. Anyway Miss Cecil, would you like to have a look at this device first? Yes, just step up here…"

Caroline let her attention wander away from the two as Cecil climbed up onto the stage and Clifford helped secure the Device on her back. Caroline stepped through the rows of brass chairs to take a closer look at the cramped, untidy shelves while she waited for them to finish. She recalled that there had been an interesting-looking contraption right beside the fan that she wanted to examine further, but a flash of bright blue caught her eye.

It was a row of paint cans.

Sort of.

They rested upon the very highest shelf, just out of reach. She craned her neck to read one of the peeling labels glued to the side of the can. _Do Not Ingest or Spread on Toast, _she read.

_Do not spread on toast? _What?

Beside these were cans of—_gelatin, _they said—as well as actual blue dye. Caroline glanced nervously over her shoulder—Cecil and Clifford were still engaged in conversation over the Quantum Tunnelling Device and a shimmery, grey not-connected portal glimmered faintly at her from across the room—Caroline edged her way over to the shelf, reaching up to the cans via tip-toe.

"Twenty-point-two seconds!" came an exultant shout from Clifford. "That's the best we've got yet! Carry on! Try two at once, this time."

Neatly-trimmed nails scrabbled the bottom of the closest blue can, finally finding a lip-like seal at its bottom and pulling it slowly, carefully, to the very edge of the shelf. If only she was a little taller, so that she could just _reach _it—

"—Nice and easy does it, now, careful, you don't want to put a kink in those cords, bog up the air ventilation or worse," Clifford was explaining.

—she _almost _had it—

"—Slow down, slow downslow_down_, HEY! WATCH OUT!"

Cecil had misfired a portal, accidentally sending a lightning-shot of bright not-quite-light under the heavy chest that contained—apparently—an ill-sorted mulch of tools. There was an alarming _clunk _that sent Caroline's knees trembling in surprise and then many ringing, cascading notes of falling, skittering nuts, bolts, wrenches and screws. They jangled across the chamber floor and the chest dropped through the portal, flying heavily out of the adjacent one still mounted on the wall and with a tremendous _bang, _hit the back of the device. Cecil screamed as her breath was knocked out of her and she was catapulted off of the stage, tumbling painfully into the rows of chairs, just as Clifford yelled, "_Watch out_! The Quantum—the device! Is the device—is it all right? Are _you _all right?!"

But before he could climb down to check if Cecil was okay, and before Cecil could detangle herself from the mess of half-folded aluminum chairs and the many cords wrapped around her from the heavy device, there was the unmistakeable sound of falling metal objects and an ominous _squelch_ barely audible over a feminine, distressed _shriek._

"_Caroline!_"

Caroline had slipped and lost her grip on the can. It had tumbled over her down onto the floor and burst there, sending a wave of blue, slimy goop rippling as it spread out to form a rather large puddle. She staggered backward and knocked into yet another shelf, but the resultant sound of yet more falling cans was lost amid her utter _scream _as the blue paint-like substance dribbled over her feet.

The world span around Caroline as she was flung into the air, powerfully, and her mind was wiped blank in a sudden rush of adrenaline as the ceiling—or was that the floor?—came rushing up to meet her.

Velocity had come from seemingly nowhere. Thankfully, the gel didn't carry enough momentum to thrust her as far as the ceiling and instead she fell gracefully, her stomach somersaulting as her world turned upside-down again and gravity forced her belly straight into her chest. She was either going to be sick, or faint, she didn't know which—she tried to close her mouth but she couldn't, she was yelling too loudly.

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH…_"

Her hands scrabbled at thin air as she realized that she was dropping even faster than she had risen, aided, no doubt, by gravity, and she was about to slam straight into the cement floor and her legs would surely break—

"What—?" shouted Clifford, turning to the sight of Caroline's blue-painted shoes rebounding her up into the air as she fought to keep her skirt down, "_Caroline, WHAT HAPPENED_?" he roared, both Cecil and the device forgotten.

"I don't _know_!" she tried to respond through the ear-ache inducing thunder of her own heartbeat and the wind in her ears, wincing. Each contact with the blue floor resulted in an exponentially higher jump, the reflexes in her legs reacting on impulse. "_Get—me—_down—_from—here_!"

"_I don't know how_!" cried Clifford.

"You—_are—a—scientist—do—some—thing—"_

"_There isn't any water_! _I can't—"_

Caroline growled viciously but the sound was drowned out amid the clamour of yet more falling cans. Many smaller bits like screws bounced alongside Caroline, and her normally-white face began to grow red hot in anger, frustration, embarrassment and adrenaline as she fought with herself, _this man is an idiot, this man is an _idiot,_ how do I get out of this—_

She was stuck. She could not grab hold of anything close to the ground, for she rebounded far too quickly each time, and once in the air she was helpless. With each and every bounce, instead of _losing _momentum, she was gaining it (evidently this substance stored energy. She swore that if she ever got to meet the particular scientist who had come up with this crap, she'd give them a piece of her mind!).

She was hopelessly scrambled and _dizzy _and angry and all she had the mental strength to process was that the ceiling was getting closer and closer to her every time. Before long, she'd be hitting it, smacking her head or flailing arm right against one of those girders, and it would probably hurt a _lot—_but wait a second _there was an idea there a _good _idea but what was it?…_

The girders!

"_Can you just—_Cecil, get _up_—we'll get you a ladder! A rope! _Something_! Oh god, I am so _sorry, _Mister Johnson is going to _kill me,_" Clifford was shouting from below, completely oblivious to Caroline's sudden, determined expression.

Cecil was still struggling with the machine. "I can't unstrap this thing, I'm stuck—lend me a hand, will you—"

"Does it look like we've got time to mess around get _up _or else Mister Johnson'll fire you too even before you _get _the job, if that's even possible, I don't know—"

"You son of a—_get over here and help me up_!"

Caroline's eyes narrowed in concentration. She watched, as if in slow motion, the nearest overhead girder grow larger and larger, and at the last possible second, she somehow managed to snatch it. Her hands were slick and she almost slipped as she felt the pull of gravity again, but she held on tight. Then, _finally, _after a few seconds of stillness the room came back into focus and Caroline felt a little of her dizziness leave her. She redoubled her grip, and looked around, panting.

"Oh—hey- HEY! _Look_!" yelped Clifford while trying to wade through the sea of chairs toward Cecil, "She did it! She's all right—she's grabbed the _roof_! Amazing!"

"Are you sure she's all right?" Caroline barely heard Cecil's whisper over her repetitive gasps as she tried to catch her breath. Already, her hands were throbbing and she could feel the telltale burn of developing callous. "She's—she's moving—hey! Miss Caroline, just hang on, there, we'll find a way to get you down in a jiffy! Clifford says it was just—what'd ya call it?"

"Repulsion Gel. It was just _Repulsion Gel_—"

_Curse Repulsion Gel—_Caroline kicked off her slimy, blue-coated shoes and redoubled her grip on the girder, her teeth barred in determination. She was only a few meters away from the high catwalk, and if she was lucky, she could probably drop down onto it…

With some weird, twisted version of jungle gym acrobatics Caroline swung her hands forward along the metal girder one by one, too focused to look down. Her pulse had slowed and her breathing was steady, for Caroline was _not_ afraid of heights—her arms were tough and her hands strong, and even in such a _ridiculous _situation she was the definition of calm, cool and collect. When life handed Miss Caroline lemons, she did not merely make lemonade, no Sir! She did not. Miss Caroline forced herself to think outside of the box even if the box was a pair of her best shoes coated with Repulsion (repulsive, more like) Gel and if the consequence for failure to think quickly a surefire broken leg or spine—no, Miss Caroline threw those lemons back before life had a chance to duck its ugly head and the two panicking, confused scientists in the chamber below proved it! They weren't the ones hanging off of dangerously high metal ceiling rods in a skirt, somehow keeping all semblance of lady-like-ness intact all the while—no indeed! They were fools, one struggling to unwrap herself from _cords, _for chrissake, and the other—an _employee_—his head lost at the sight of Miss Caroline clinging to the damn rafters like a chimpanzee!

"Can you just- just stay here, a minute, Cecil, I'm going to go and get help—"

"Clifford, _how d'you take this thing off? _I can't—"

"—just stay there! I'll be right back—keep an _eye _on her, make sure she doesn't _fall…_"

Caroline heard him cross to the exit and the door slammed shut sharply behind him. With a sharp intake of breath Caroline swung herself forward, counting down, three, two, one—and she let go.

She hit the catwalk with a gut-wrenching _bang _and stumbled forward onto her knees. Her filthy palms pressed firmly into the catwalk from the force of the impact and she felt the metal tremble in aftershock, churning out an almost musical reverberation. For a moment, she did not move from her crouched position, seeking to catch her breath again—she had done it. She was safe.

"Caroline?" called Cecil apprehensively. She could hear the worry in her voice.

Caroline's reply was equally shaky, "I'm here, Cecil."

"Where are you? I heard a bang, and I can't see you!"

"I'm up here."

"Where—can you get _down_?"

"No, there isn't any way—wait a minute."

She scrambled to her feet, her bare toes making the softest _tap _against the metal. There were two symmetrical doors here, she had almost forgotten—one to her left, and one to her right.

"I think there may be a way." Her voice was loud and clear, despite how strongly it echoed against the girder-striped ceiling. Caroline shook her frizzed hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ears, smoothed the front of her coat determinedly. Her pulse was normal as was her breath, for she had regained self-control and her usual, chipper optimism in the face of yet another potential science adventure—who knew what was beyond either door? In one half of her mind, Caroline was very aware that stepping out-of-bounds might qualify as the worst thing to do in her situation—it was most definitely against protocol and probably enough to get her banned from the facility for life. But on the other hand, why _shouldn't_ she explore a little? She had already made a mess of things unintentionally—a disgusting, repulsive stickiness clung to the bottoms of her legs from residual splashes of Repulsion Gel, her hair was tangled and gummy, and her foundation had been smeared and ruined with sweat—would Mister Johnson even look twice at her in her current state anyways?

_No, Sir, _she thought to herself. She hadn't even walked into the interview yet, and she knew it was hopeless. Cecil (Caroline let out her breath with a sharp huff of annoyance) would take the job. Cecil was not _the _brightest, that was for sure, but she _was _smart—and anyone could have made the mistake of misfiring a portal, right? Perhaps it had not even been Cecil's mistake. The gun was probably just faulty.

"Caroline?" came Cecil's quiet voice from below. "Caroline? Are you still there?"

The woman threw her dark, tangled hair over her shoulder and hitched up her skirt. "I think," she said calmly and loudly in response, "I think I will try to find a way out. There are doors…"

"Oh… or maybe you should just wait for Clifford, it might be dangerous back there." Caroline could hear the apprehension in her voice. "I can't see you—you aren't even supposed to be up there, you should just stay put."

"You're right." But Caroline had never felt obligated to do the _right _thing. She had seen people go against the _right _thing in the name of science far too many times; her knowledge of what things like experimentation, study, and exploration could yield in the way of discoveries was too great; and, coupled with an unwavering desire for adventure, Caroline found it almost impossible to turn away from the doors and simply _wait _to be rescued, even if it meant losing her shot at a future career in Aperture Science.

Should she simply take life's lemons and wait for someone else to come and find her and clean up her mess, or should she pass through and slam her chosen door shut without a backward glance? Caroline felt a mischievous smile to cross her face, simultaneously insane and yet breathtakingly beautifully so.

"But Cecil," she mumbled suddenly, "I recognize the thrill of danger, and I'm not going to wait here for that deranged man to come back and collect me. If _Mister Johnson _has anything to say against my decision, I will gladly leave and not come back at his wish. This_ is_ his facility, after all."

"Caroline, are you _insane_? Just _wait_ for us to come get you!"

Caroline's eyes flashed momentarily, lit with an internal fire, sizzling with shreds of remorse and regret. She could not have the job, she knew that now—she was too rebellious, too unprofessional; too _crazy _to hold such a position. Could Mister Johnson even compete with her recklessness?

"Am I insane?" repeated Caroline with laughter that cascaded like falling water. "Of course I am."

She had made her decision. She would take the left hand door.

A small pale hand clasped the loose iron handle with a firm grip and pushed it inward. The door was swept open soundlessly, and with a final, resolute nod, Miss Caroline strode through threshold and into the darkness beyond.

* * *

_Author's Note: _Okay, so flashbacks… it's not finished (obviously, given she is about to go on some sort of adventure!), so the next chapter will continue with Caroline's adventures, but then the chapter after that will be back to focusing on Wheatley and GLaDOS and the co-operative testing initiative! I'm already quite far into the next part, so I hope to update this thing fairly quickly… I've baaarely written from Caroline's POV before and it was very strange trying to write as if it were 1950, so uhh… thoughts? It was haaaard, but man alive am I ever thrilled that I did it! (Hopefully a decent job. Idk, orz).


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